GIJoe Special Missions: Part 3
by Jaenelle Angelline
Summary: Continuation of the 'G.I Joe Special Missions' storyline. Scarlett and Snake Eyes are back in Manhattan but so is the enemy they made at The Hague, and he has plans for the Joes. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 43: Manhattan

**Part 3: G.I. Joe Special Missions: Manhattan **

**Chapter 43: SVU**

_7PM. __Tonight. __My __house. __Get __a __ride __with __Elliot. __We __need __to __talk. __C._

There was no mistaking Cragen's scrawl on the sticky note slapped inside the front of the file folder. Olivia took the folder off the rest of the stack wordlessly, handed it to Elliot, who took it with a mystified expression. The look on his face cleared when he saw the sticky note and deciphered the handwriting.

Olivia took the folder he handed her, pulled the sticky note off and tore it into miniscule little pieces, then grabbed her own notepad and scribbled a brief message, stuck it inside the folder and headed for Cragen's office. "New D5, Captain," she said, putting it on his desk. He opened it, read her note.

_Fin? __Munch?_

"They have as much right as we do, Captain," she said by way of explanation.

He shook his head. "Not yet, Detective," and closed the folder.

It was so, so hard to go through the rest of the day, doing paperwork and pretending everything was normal. Fin and Munch, bless their suspicious little hearts, seemed to know something was going on that didn't include them, and Munch looked positively stormy. Fin finally accosted her on the way to the ladies room. "Liv."

"Yes?" She kept her face impassive.

"What's going on?"

She hesitated. She knew Fin and Munch could be trusted utterly, but Don had ordered… "Fin, I can't," she said, feeling miserable as she saw the hurt expression on his face. "It's not that I don't trust you, but it's orders."

"From that military guy who walked in earlier? What's he got to do with this?" He saw her hesitation. "You know Munch's suspicious ass is gonna be pokin' all over this, spoutin' ridiculous half-assed conspiracy theories. You wanna head it off now, at least give us a clue."

"I can't." But as she brushed passed him on her way to the ladies room, she muttered, "The ICC."

He and Munch would figure it out. It would be hard not to, when Cesar Velez figured prominently at the top of the list of names of those who had 'died' in the accident at the ICC jail. And they knew who was at the ICC.

She knew when they figured it out. Halfway through the afternoon Munch suddenly sat straight up, staring at his computer screen; moments later Fin joined him, took a look at whatever he was looking at, and nodded slightly. Half an hour later he found an excuse to come over to her desk and give her something that needed to be signed. As he did so, he glanced casually at the framed photo of her and Alex sitting next to the desk phone, and said, "I sure wish Alex came back. These new ADAs they're givin' us are drivin' me nuts."

At the desk across from hers, Elliot looked at her, raised both eyebrows. _Did __you __tell __him?_ She shrugged. He shook his head slightly, smiling, and returned her attention to her paperwork.

The day dragged on interminably, but finally six o'clock rolled around. Elliot pretended to rummage in his locker at the same time she was in hers, allowing him to speak to her without anyone else hearing. "Change your clothes to the spare stuff in your locker so if someone's watching you won't be leaving wearing the same clothes you came in with. I have a spare baseball hat in my locker; you put that on and wait for me. I'll drive around to the back entrance by the motorpool and pick you up; if you go out to the garage via the interior entrance they shouldn't spot you."

"Elliot, this is completely unnecessary. If they're waiting for me they'll get suspicious when they don't see me leaving."

"Wouldn't be the first time you pulled an all-nighter here."

"They'll see me when I come in tomorrow."

"No they won't because you're coming in with me."

"What am I going to do, spend the night at your place?" She was only joking, but Elliot nodded seriously. She stared at him. "What will Kathy say?"

"You can crash in Maureen's old room. And Kathy's about your size so you can borrow something of hers tomorrow morning."

"What's Kathy going to say?" She wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"I'll explain. It'll be all right. Olivia, if someone could attack Alex at the ICC on Velez's orders, they're capable of doing anything. And if she's out of their reach on a secured, classified military base they'll try to use you to get to her. I've been watching you all afternoon and I saw your face when you looked at her photo. I'm guessing she looks really, really bad, and I do _not_ want to see you end up looking like whatever she looks like now. Get changed." He plunked a baseball cap on top of the pile of clothes on her locker shelf, closed his locker door, and went back to his desk.

By the time she got to the rear garage door that led out to the motorpool he was waiting there, his eyes busy scanning the street outside the fence. "I haven't seen anyone yet. Get in the back, fast." Olivia slid into the back of his minivan. "There's a blanket across the back seat. Get down and cover yourself up."

"Elliot—"

"Just do it, Liv!" he wasn't angry, just impatient with her stubbornness. "Jesus, Liv, if a couple of hard-ass military guys like Gung Ho and General Hawk can be afraid of the people who did…whatever… to Alex, that's definitely something I have to be afraid of on your behalf. Don and I will do whatever we have to in order to ensure you're safe."

They drove in silence for a time; Olivia finally broke it. "I'm sorry, El. It's just—this all seems like unnecessary caution to me."

"Liv, you went with Gung Ho to see Alex. I don't know what you saw but it had to be pretty bad; every time you've looked at her picture this afternoon you've been close to tears. I'm not taking any chances and neither is Don. Until this gets resolved and whoever it is that's following you stops, I'll do whatever I feel is necessary to foil them."

Elliot remained silent and on edge as they drove out of the city onto the bridge that led out into Queens; he was checking the mirrors every few minutes, peering out the side and rear, switching lanes inexplicably. He even checked the road outside Don's house in Queens, driving by twice before finally parking in the driveway; he pulled his baseball cap low over Olivia's eyes as they went in, and didn't relax until they were in Don's living room.

Cragen was waiting for them. "I'm glad to see you made it. Were you followed?" Cragen asked Elliot directly.

"No. I checked and I made several u-turns and backtracked. If there was anyone at the precinct who saw Liv get in the back we definitely lost them on the way here."

"You guys sound like this is a military operation." Olivia took off the baseball cap and smoothed her hair down.

"As far as I'm concerned, this _is _a military operation. I never served with General Abernathy but I checked up on him this afternoon through some of my Nam buddies who did stay in the service. He's tough but fair, an experienced veteran of several wars, and is currently spearheading a highly-classified military project on a military base so secret no one even knows where it is. I decided not to inform anyone that I know it's in the New York area—you weren't gone long enough for it to have been that far outside the city."

Don led the way into his office, to one side of the living room, and closed the door, then locked it. "What we say here tonight goes no further than this room. I already swept it for bugs this afternoon; they are apparently not suspicious of me yet, which is why I had you meet me here. Olivia, you're being followed and I suspect they may already have bugged your apartment, so no conversation about this at your place. Elliot, your place is a little more secure but I'm positive that as Olivia's partner you're on the peripheral radar. I suspect that I will be there shortly so this will likely be the last time we discuss this." He sat down in his desk chair, indicated two other chairs on the other side of it. "If we need a more secure place to talk later I'll clue Munch and Fin in on this, but not until then. Liv, I know you told them it had to do with Alex. No, I'm not upset—if Munch suddenly started sounding more paranoid that usual it would set up a red flag if the squad room has been compromised, and John may drive me crazy with his conspiracy theory of the week but when it comes to Alex's secrets I trust both of them implicitly." He scrubbed his hands over his eyes, looking more tired than usual, then straightened in his chair. "First thing; how bad is she?"

"I don't…I can't even begin to understand what she endured. She…oh God, the photos in her medical file over there…" And the words poured out of her, the grief and anguish and horror and fury and fear that she'd felt when she saw Alex's medical file, and when she finished she saw all her own emotions mirrored on Elliot and Don's faces. "She's never going to be the same. She's so thin, weak, she's pale and lost a lot of blood and I don't know how she even survived. Everyone at the base seems to be worried about her, they're all hoping she'll get better but she has a long road ahead of her."

Don closed his eyes, took a deep shuddering breath. "Thank God for the soldiers she went out with. From what you say they are the only reason she's still alive."

"This whole thing has been Cesar Velez. General Abernathy—General Hawk—sent a couple of his people undercover at the ICC, and they found that Velez is—was—orchestrating all of this from behind bars at the ICC. The Feds released Alex from Witness Protection after Velez was arrested by ICC authorities for drug smuggling, human trafficking, and arms dealing because they deemed that he wouldn't pose a threat to her anymore. But when she got to the ICC she found him waiting in jail there, and he recognized her. When we took down Gaviria, we dealt a huge blow to his organization , and Alex has become the target of his focused hatred and obsession. He had…he had an observer in the DRC with the militia faction that captured Alex and this other soldier, and that observer took pictures as they were torturing Alex!" Sick disgust crossed Elliot's face; Cragen's features hardened into a stony mask.

"Hawk's operative, a woman code-named Scarlett, went undercover at the ICC. She took Alex's place with Alex's boss, a Ms. Judy Donnelly. The other operative—I never knew his name—went undercover as Ms. Donnelly's driver. They found out that Ms. Donnelly's aide was compromised and was Cesar Velez's contact to the outside world; I'm sure as a chief prosecutor's aide she had access to a lot of people and a lot of places that helped Velez strike back at Alex in countries all across the world where she traveled for the ICC. He finally came up with an elaborate plan to get Alex into an inescapable position in the DRC, it's only thanks to the soldiers that were chosen for the token escort team that she survived at all, and two soldiers were wounded just getting her out." She took a deep breath, scrubbed her sleeve across her eyes. "I told them that I was being followed, by persons unknown. When they said they were concerned about the people following me, I told them…I told them…don't come to see me anymore. I won't put Alex in any more danger than she's already in, she's been through enough." She bit her lip. "I just…I hope they will let her stay there. General Hawk said there was some concern over orders from his superior officer that would compel him to place Alex in a regular hospital; I hope that somehow they'll be able to get word to me if she is transferred." She briefly outlined everything General Hawk had told her about their information so far.

"If they put her in a regular hospital she's dead. If Velez managed to do this much from behind the bars of a prison cell, God only knows what he'll be capable of now that he's out and everyone thinks he's dead. Christ." Don sighed heavily. "There is nothing we can do about her now. Let's hope General Hawk can talk his superiors into letting her stay, and let's hope they'll be able to get word to us. Until then, let's worry about what we do have control over. How are we going to take care of Liv?"

"She's staying with Kathy and me tonight, and I'll take her into work tomorrow. Anybody watching will think she pulled one of her usual overnighters and they won't suspect we had this conversation. Tomorrow she'll resume her usual routine."

Cragen nodded. "Olivia, I want you armed to the teeth every minute you're out there. Here." He reached into his desk drawer and took out a large, impressive-looking automatic pistol. "Smith & Wesson M&P 40. Their newest, holds ten rounds. Here's the holster. Strap it around your shoulders and wear it at all times under a jacket or sweater. Your service Glock is fine but this should make anyone pause long enough for Elliot or I to get to you. I am going to have my cell phone on and with me at all times and Elliot will too; if you have even the slightest hint that anything is even the tiniest bit wrong, call one of us. Both, if you have time."

Olivia hefted the gun experimentally, nodded. "It's a little heavy, but I think I can still fire it. I just have to hold someone off until you get to me. Will do, Captain." She started strapping the shoulder holster around her torso, then paused. "Hey, if we're going to do this commando style, do I get a code name too?"

She meant it jokingly; she was completely unprepared for Cragen's thoughtful, considering look. "You know, that's not a bad idea."

"No, seriously, I was joking!" she exclaimed as she saw a similar look on Elliot's face.

"I'm not. It's a good idea." Cragen nodded. To Elliot, he said, "Something simple that will be easy to insert in a conversation."

"Alex and I used to call each other 'Sister' and 'Fearless'." Olivia supplied helpfully.

Elliot cracked a smile for the first time that evening. "Let me guess, you were 'Fearless'." Her grin was answer enough.

"Okay. Fine. Fearless it is." Cragen grinned. "I used to be 'Trigger'. Good shot," he said to Olivia by way of explanation. "That should be easy enough to work into conversation." They both lookd expectantly at Elliot.

"Stable."

"Can't work that into conversation," Olivia objected. "What did you use while in the Marines? Gung Ho said you had one."

Elliot muttered something and wouldn't meet her eyes.

"What? I didn't hear you." She leaned in, grinning mischievously.

"Just call me Red. That's easy enough." Elliot grabbed his jacket. "Come on. Kathy's gonna see red when I tell her we have a guest…she hates last minute surprises."


	2. Chapter 44: Argument

**Chapter 44: Argument**

"Hey, sweetheart." Allie smiled as Dash walked into her room.

He ignored her in favor of heading straight for the bed, flopping down on it face-first, and groaning. She grinned as she sat down on the bed beside him, running her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. "Hard workout? Aren't you overdoing it a bit?"

"Sorry," he said into her pillow, not sounding a bit contrite. "I just…I feel like this isn't over yet, and I have to be ready for the other shoe to drop."

"Yeah, but you know Doc said to take it easy for a couple of weeks. The bullet wounds have to heal all the way." She grabbed his arm, tugged. "Come on. Roll over so I can get this sweaty shirt off you and check your back."

He groaned. "I'm staying right where I am."

"No, you're not. You're getting sweat on my sheets and I just changed them. Come on, get up." He sighed but obeyed, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

Allie unbuttoned his shirt, wrinkling her nose as she dropped it in a pile of her own clothes that needed to be washed, then checked his back. "Damn, Dash. You overdid it."

"Am I bleeding?"

"Not from the bullet wounds, from the whiplashes." She still had to fight to keep from wincing at the livid red lines. Though they had scabbed over and were now fading to thin red scars, the skin was still tight and his workout had pulled the skin apart. "Here, hold still." She vanished into her tiny bath and came out moments later with a clean, damp washcloth. Flint jumped as he felt the first touch of the cool cloth against his sweaty skin, then relaxed and leaned into her gentle cleaning. "I don't think Doc needs to look at it, but maybe we should—"

"No." Flint was adamant.

Allie continued for a moment, quiet, then said, "Flint, you're not doing either her or you any favors. She's making excuses but I think she's just afraid to face you. If you just showed up in the medlabs she'd have to talk to you."

"I'm not deliberately trying to avoid her."

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not. I'm trying to make this easier on everyone—"

"You're not."

"I'm not what?" He caught her wrist as she started to get up from the bed. "Allie, 'I'm not' what?"

"You're not making this easier on everyone." She turned to him, and he saw the anguish in her eyes. "Do you know how hard this is for me? I wasn't there. I don't know what you saw. You won't talk to me. But you're waking up practically every night screaming, screaming Alex's name, threatening to kill someone if they don't leave her alone."

"Oh, sweetheart." He stood, hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry. It's not what you think, Allie, there's no one but you—"

"I'm not talking about that. Of course I know there isn't." She ducked under his arms. "Alex is a lovely woman but she isn't your type. No, Dash, it's about you avoiding talking about it. About everything that happened."

"You weren't there. You wouldn't understand."

"Then make me understand!" Allie heard her voice breaking. "I can't understand if you don't talk to me!"

"I can't. I'm sorry, Allie. I don't want you to have the same images in your head that I see in mine."

Anger borne of frustration made her snap at him. "I can kick your ass from here to next Tuesday, Dashiell Faireborn. I am your equal in everything else. I can handle it; I'm not some hothouse flower that has to be coddled and protected. And if you can't get that through your thick head, I can certainly pound it into your brain for you."

"You have to take it easy. Doc said so."

"Yeah, like you're taking it easy." She snapped back.

"That's different."

"How is it different? I have one gunshot wound, you have two. But you're pushing yourself harder than you have to."

"I'm a leader. It's my responsibility."

"You're not leading anything right now, you're injured!"

"That doesn't mean I'm not still responsible!"

"For what? For running yourself into the ground? For hurting yourself even more and making me watch? I can't do this, Dash, I can't watch you torture yourself even more!"

"No one said you had to!" As soon as he said it he knew it was a mistake; he saw the tears shining in Allie's eyes as she planted a hand in the center of his chest and shoved him, none too gently, out into the hall. Then she turned wordlessly, marched back into her room, and closed the door so quietly it was an insult.

He stared at the door and swore in every language he knew. Only when Scarlett came down the hall, heard him, and stared at him in amazement did he finally turn and stride down the hall toward his own quarters to get another shirt.

Scarlett shook her head. She'd seen this coming a mile away. "Thickheaded male," she muttered, then tapped on Allie's door. "Allie? It's me, Shana."

When there was no sound she took that as assent and walked in, then shut the door behind her as she saw Allie sitting slumped over on her side of the bed. "You okay, Allie?"

"S-s-stupid thickheaded _male_," Allie sobbed, and Shana had to smile even as she crossed the room and sat down next to Allie on the bed.

"Yes, he is. And if you weren't injured yourself, you'd go pound some sense into that stupid thickheaded male's thick head, right?" She patted Allie's shoulder, and was rewarded with Allie's wan smile.

"It's not just Dash, I guess. It's Alex too." Allie propped herself up, elbows on knees, and stared at her shoes. "Jesus, I can see both of them are hurting but they don't want to talk to anyone. Dash has—" she swallowed. "Dash has been screaming himself awake every night for the last few weeks, sometimes more than once a night, threatening to kill Zimurinda for hurting Alex, or he's begging Alex to forgive him. Alex has been having nightmares where she's begging Zimurinda to hurt her instead of Dash, she's begging Dash to forgive her for raping him, and she's begging _me_ to forgive _her_ for dragging all of us into this. I want to talk to her about these nightmares but she doesn't remember those dreams when she wakes up. Or she's making it look like she doesn't remember them. Either way, she cuts me off when I try to talk to her. They need to talk about it, both of them; if not with me, then with each other, but I can't even get them in the same room!"

Shana wrapped her arms around Allie, mentally gritting her teeth. Since Lieutenant General Johnson's visit a week ago, she'd been working on reports or catching up on sleep; neither she nor Snake Eyes had slept at all on their return home; small naps, yes, but no sleep; they both had been watching for any signs of pursuit and keeping up with news feeds for possible developments. She felt the same way Dash did; all the Joes, in fact; they were waiting for the Damoclean sword hanging over them to fall. There was still a sense of waiting, of expectancy; they knew they hadn't reached the end of this crisis yet.

And so she hadn't spent much time with Allie and Courtney to help care for Alex; Courtney had early on understood that Allie was better at 'nursing' than she was and had generally left it up to Allie; Ettienne was there as much as he could but he'd gone back on duty as soon as General Hawk cleared them, after Johnson left. And Shana had learned, from listening to the gossip, that while Alex no longer woke from her nightmares threatening to kill any man who came near her, she still showed a fear reaction to males, particularly African American males like Doc, after a bad night.

And so Allie had basically been comforting Dash every morning, then running immediately to Alex's bedside when Doc called her because Alex had a bad night. It was completely understandable that she'd be having a minor breakdown now; after all, she was injured too, and Shana cursed herself for her own carelessness. She should be helping, and so should Courtney. "Tell you what. You get some sleep, you look exhausted—"

"I'm a little tired," Allie confessed.

"—and I'll go see if I can talk some sense into both of them."

"No. Don't. I don't know if Alex is ready, and Dash," Allie sighed, a sound that seemed to come from a very deep wellspring of exasperation, "Dash is _my_ problem."

"Yeah. Should've known better than to think you'd kick him to the curb. No matter how irritating he can be." Shana smiled sweetly. "At least _**I **_had the good sense to pick a male who doesn't talk back to me."

"Get out of here," Allie swatted her, and Shana laughed as she got up. "See you at dinner."

Next stop, medlabs. And here Shana found Alex awake, sitting up and leaning against the head of the bed, propped up by pillows. She looked somewhat surprised when Shana came in. "Where's Allie?"

"Allie's taking some personal time off." Shana sat down in the chair next to Alex's bed. "So, sorry, but you're stuck with me." She scrutinized Alex carefully. "You look a little better than you did when I saw you right after I came back from the ICC."

"You're the one who sent back my things!" Alex smiled, and it seemed to light up her face, pain lines, thin cheekbones and all.

"Yeah. I thought maybe having some of your own stuff would help you feel a little better."

"It did, thank you," Alex said, her hands coming up to caress the dolphin sitting on the bed beside her.

Shana tapped the dolphin with one fingernail. "I kinda figured you'd want him back. And…oh…" she fished around in her pocket. She'd been originally planning on coming here to give this to Alex and had forgotten it in her haste to help Allie. "I thought maybe you'd want these." She handed Alex the case of audio chips and the digital recorder. "I was certainly not going to leave those behind for whoever bugged your apartment to find and drool over. Those cameras in the bathroom were bad enough. Sandra was a twisted little bitch."

"Sandra never liked me," Alex said quietly, opening the case and toying with the chips inside it. "I knew when I got there. It wasn't as bad the first few months I was there…she may have disliked me but she was polite about it, but then Judy started grooming me to take over her position and Sandra suddenly got so spiteful and petty. And then, suddenly, she went back to disliking me politely. It was probably about that time that I ran into Velez at the jail and I knew for certain he was still after me."

"Did you know she had your apartment bugged?"

"I knew about the device in my phone," Alex said, thinking. "And the one in my living room, where I'd have to pass when I came in every evening. You say there were cameras in my bathroom?"

"Yes. Under the countertop, where someone would have a perfect look at you when you stepped out of the shower, and another actually in the shower right behind the soap caddy. Right here," and Scarlett held up a hand at about breast height.

Alex swore.

"Well, you must be feeling better if you can swear like that," Shana said as she tried to control her laughter. Alex stared at her, and suddenly the two women were giggling, then laughing. They ended up clinging to each other as tears rolled down their faces.

"You know, you're pretty when you laugh," Shana said as Alex lay back, still chuckling.

"Maybe I used to. I'm not anymore." Alex sobered.

Shana wasn't going to let her go that easily. "Uh-uh. You still are. Alex, hasn't anyone given you a mirror so you can see yourself?"

"I don't want to—" but Shana had reached over to a nearby counter and grabbed a small mirror Doc had waiting, no doubt for this very purpose, and held it up.

Alex carefully traced her cheekbones with her fingers, the slight crookedness in her jaw. "Doc said he doesn't want to fix that," she said. "Not now, because my body's busy trying to heal everything else and he doesn't want to overburden me right now."

"You can barely even tell. And fixing a broken jaw is painful," Shana said, her eyes darkening. "If it's already started healing Doc will have to rebreak it and wire it shut until it heals. I really don't think you're up to that."

"Sounds like you're familiar with the procedure," Alex said.

"My boyfriend, Snake Eyes," Shana said. "It happened a while back—we were on a mission, and the helicopter malfunctioned. My seatbelt got stuck and I couldn't bail with everybody else. Snake Eyes stayed with me when we crashed. I walked away with a couple of broken bones; his face was badly burned and scarred and he lost his voice."

"Oh my God. I am so sorry." Alex looked horrified.

Shana shook her head to dispel the memory and smiled cheerfully, returning to her naturally sunny self. "Yeah, well, they did a pretty good job rebuilding his face. And it's nice to have a man who can't talk back!" _Though __he __does __say __plenty __with __his __hands. __Like __last __night. __Mmm._

Alex grinned. "I can guess."

"But seriously, you're still beautiful," Shana said. "Of course, we'd have to do something with your hair, and clothes, and you're still skinny. You need to eat more."

"Nothing tastes good," Alex said wistfully. "I know the stuff Ettienne brings on trays from the mess hall is supposed to be good for you but I just don't have much of an appetite."

"The stuff in the mess hall is terrible!" Shana made an exaggerated face. "How long were you in the DRC? Did they have any decent food?"

Alex thought. "In the cities—Kinshasa, Goma, Sake—it's not so bad," she said. "But out in the jungle, in the villages—they don't have refrigeration or a steady source of electric. A village is considered very well off if they have a diesel generator, but fuel for those generators is hard to come by, and half the time they aren't reliable. So they gather and prepare fresh ingredients for every meal, and it's usually rice and vegetables. Once in a while there will be meat but it's bushmeat—you don't know half the time what kind of animal it's from and sometimes when you find out you wish you hadn't. I stayed away from the meat."

"So when was the last time you had a big juicy burger made of real dead cow?" Scarlett grinned.

"Oh, my gosh. I can't even remember. Back when I left the Hague six months ago, I think. And even then, it's not like home. I remember the hot dog stands outside the courthouse; I used to stop and get chili dogs with Liv and El after we won a case. And when we lost we'd go and hit the burger joints—there's this one place on Second Avenue, in the East Village, called 'Paul's Place'…everything you could possibly think of to put on a burger was available and you could have whatever you wanted put on it. They have great burgers. I always got fries, Liv got onion rings. I used to tease her about they'd do to her breath afterward…" she trailed off looking apprehensive

"Hey. I'm not a prude. Doesn't matter to me which way you swing." Shana shrugged.

"I think…what I miss most? Chocolate." And the look on her face made Shana grin. "I really, _really_ miss having chocolate."

Shana giggled again. "Well, I know you can't leave, but if we tidy you up a little maybe you can sucker Ettienne into getting you some with those big blue eyes of yours…"

With Doc's help—_he__'__s __probably __overjoyed __that __Alex __is __taking __an __interest __in __her __appearance __again_—they got Alex draped with a spare sheet and Shana got to work with a pair of scissors. When Ettienne came in an hour later with a ray from the mess hall, he stopped short at the sight of Alex, clear eyed, smiling shyly, with the hacked portion of her hair trimmed, the rest of her hair shaped so that the lost bit was barely noticeable. Shana had even carefully combed it to one side to drape gracefully over the scar left by the facial surgery.

"What do you think?" Shana grinned at him. "Does Alex look good enough for you to consider bringing her back some chocolate?"

"Absolutely," Ettienne said fervently, putting the tray down and approaching Alex carefully. "Wow. You look…gorgeous."

"Think so?" Alex looked up at Ettienne with 'those big blue eyes' Shana had known would lure the big Cajun in. Ettienne reached out, shyly, and touched the newly-trimmed ends of hair.

"Yeah," he said, his voice soft. "Beautiful. Of course I'll get you chocolate." He almost ran out of the medlabs.

Shana sneaked a quick peek at Alex. The blond was blushing—_blushing!_—but she also looked a little sad. To Shana, experienced at reading non-verbal body language, her expression was an open book. _Think __Clancy __was __right, __do __you?__Think __Ettienne __won__'__t __want __you, __huh? __We__'__ll __see __about __that._


	3. Chapter 45: First Date

**Chapter 45: First Date**

"Where are you off to?"

Hawk turned, to see Shana behind him. "Hey. Heading off to see that girlfriend of Alex's. I want her to know that Alex will be staying here, just in case she's worried." He looked at her as she fell into step beside him. "You're looking perky today."

Shana held up a hand, started ticking off points on her fingers. "One. Allie finally got a decent night's sleep. 'Course, she had to kick Dash out to do it, but that's his fault. Two. Doc gave Alex a sedative only, no painkillers, and she still slept through the night. And she didn't have any nightmares either. Three, Ettienne is scoring points with Alex because he brought her chocolate." She grinned at Hawk's bemused look. "Alex really missed chocolate. It's not exactly a staple on store shelves in the DRC apparently."

"Why did Allie kick Dash out?" Clayton stopped walking as Shana's words finally sank in. "I've been turning a blind eye to how often I've seen him sneaking into the women's dorms at night since they got back."

"Because Dash and Alex are refusing to talk to each other."

"You lost me." _Why __would __that __make __Allie __kick __him __out __of __her __room?_

"Because," Shana's tone had the exaggerated patience of an adult trying to talk to a five year old child, "Dash won't talk to Allie about what he went through. Allie thinks, and so do I, that Dash and Alex could resolve some of the issues that are causing each other's nightmares if they just sat down and talked, but Alex is refusing because she thinks Dash won't want to talk to his 'rapist', as she calls herself, and Dash is refusing because he thinks Alex isn't ready to face what happened. I'm trying to work Alex around to saying yes but she's stubborn."

"And so are you."

"And so am I. Touché." Shana grinned at him. "I'll get around to it. If I have to, I'll lock them both in a room together and refuse to let them out until they work it out, see if I won't." She grinned at him. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Well…this is still a military base, and we do still have people coming into the medlabs for sprains, strains, that sort of thing. It's sort of uncomfortable for Doc because he doesn't want to treat the guys in front of Alex; it's uncomfortable for Alex because she has no privacy and everybody on base can parade in and out of what is essentially her bedroom. Doc checked her stitches and said she could get up tomorrow, for short periods, so I was wondering if you might consider letting her move into one of the empty rooms down in the women's dorms. She'll have a closet, she'll be able to hang her clothes up and stop wearing them wrinkled from the overnight case she's been living out of, and best of all, Doc can have his infirmary back."

Hawk thought. It would solve a lot of problems. And then he thought about the clothes in the cardboard shipping box that Scarlett had sent the crystal dolphin in, thought about the little overnight case that held the rest of Alex's possessions, and his heart ached at how empty that closet would look. "Yes," he said. "Go ahead. Since we don't know how long she'll be staying here, it makes sense to give her a room of her own." _And __maybe __some __privacy __will __help __her __start __to __heal __emotionally. __Because __I __look __at __her __and __she__'__s __still __in __so __much __emotional __pain._

Another thought occurred to him as he was driving the Hummer out to the One Six. _She __got __that __NYPD __sweatshirt __from __Olivia. __Maybe__—__no, __not __maybe, __I__'__m __positive__—__that __Olivia __will __empty __her __own __closets __just __to __make __sure __Alex __has __a __full __one. __It__'__s __the __kind __of __thing __that __Shana __would __do __for __Allie, __or __Courtney __would __do __for __either __of __the __other __girls. __I__'__d __better __plan __to __be __bringing __back __some __female __clothes._

He parked in front of the precinct with a lighter heart, gave the street a quick check as he got out and locked up. In New York, Hummers weren't all that uncommon; they were something of a status symbol here rather than the indispensable tool that the Joes used their Hummers for. At least this one, meant for on-base use and personnel transport to the airport, looked like the ones on the streets and not like the reality, which was that this was a specially-designed armored urban tank that Courtney was constantly making design adjustments and packing more weaponry into. This Hummer was Courtney's baby—in addition to her motorcycle.

And she'd kill him if he brought it back with so much as a scratch on it.

He'd deliberately dressed in civilian clothes so as not to draw attention, and without his 'police escort' of last time, the officer at the front desk stopped him. "I'm here to see Detective Benson," he said.

"Name?" the desk—sergeant, if he read the insignia on the uniform right—was already reaching for the phone.

"Clayton Abernathy."

The sergeant put the phone down. "Ms. Benson will be here in a minute to speak with you."

He waited, trying not to feel conspicuous in the waiting lobby of a police precinct. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long. Quick purposeful footsteps, and here came Detective Benson herself. And she looked worried when she saw him.

She drew him off to the side of one hallway. "Is it Alex? Is she worse? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong; she's actually doing better, Doc's going to allow her out of bed for short periods starting tomorrow," he said, glad he'd run into Shana before he left so he could give her that piece of information.

"You're transferring her to a regular hospital. Your superiors won't let you keep her there." Disappointment washed over her features.

"Oh, no, not that. In fact that's what I came to tell you. Until her life is no longer in danger, she'll be staying at our base. In fact, Allie and Shana are moving her into the women's dorms tomorrow."

Olivia looked relieved…and then her phone rang. She grabbed it, glanced quickly at her caller ID, then answered it. "Yeah, Captain." Pause. "No, just a friend. He's been keeping a _hawk_eye on some personal matters for me."

"Yes, I think I'll take my lunch now. We hit a lull anyway. Okay. Bye." She disconnected the call, then turned to Clayton. "Cap said to take my lunch now. Let's go somewhere private where we can talk."

He led the way out to the Hummer, opened the passenger door for her. She smiled and slid in without complaining that he had; the thought made him grin as he got into the driver's seat. "What?" she said.

"Oh, just thinking about the girls on base. They expect us to hold doors for them but then they complain that they're perfectly capable of opening their own doors."

"Let me guess. Shana."

"Yep." He stopped for a red light.

"One of our former ADAs was like that. Casey Novak. Tomboy. And Alex is like that too, come to think of it; as she gets better you'll start running into her stubbornness." She sighed. "She's too stubborn for her own good, sometimes. You might have to push her into doing what's best for her."

"You _can_ come and visit."

"No, I can't. I'm still a danger to her." Olivia shook her head. "Your guy, Ettienne—he hasn't been watching me in the mornings anymore but I still have my tail when I leave. In fact, unless I miss my guess, he's been following us for the last two blocks."

Clayton swore as he looked out his rearview mirror. He'd been so occupied in driving and talking that he hadn't thought to check for followers. "That him? Dark green Mazda?"

"Yeah." Olivia nodded. "No, don't react. Don't let him know you know he's there. Elliot and Don and I are waiting for them to make the next move. In fact, since Cap told me to go to lunch, let's grab a bite to eat."

"Are you sure?" Clayton looked at her. "You're going to eat with that guy sitting there staring at you?"

"He's been watching me work, go grocery shopping, eat and sleep for the last two weeks. I'm sort of used to it by now," she pointed out reasonably, and raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you can't eat. I've never known a man who didn't have an empty corner somewhere inside for at least a cheeseburger."

He had to concede that as he got out. "Base food is not the most appetizing."

As they sat down, got menus and started skimming them, Clayton kept an eye on the guy in the green Mazda sitting in his car across the street from the little café that Olivia had directed him to. "I'm absolutely positive he's Velez's man," Olivia said as she brought the menu up to her face to hide the movement of her lips. "I'm assuming they're watching me hoping I'll lead them to Alex."

"What will you do when they get tired of waiting and go on the offensive?"

Olivia sighed. "Don and Elliot have both placed themselves on 24 hour call. If I see the slightest hint of something wrong I'm to let them know. Don also gave me additional firepower in case I need it."

"You'll need it." The waitress came over and they placed their orders, then sipped their sodas.

"Let's hope I don't…but I do get the feeling I'll need it too." She carefully didn't look at their watcher. "Don, Elliot and I have adopted that military tradition of codenames. Don said he used to be Trigger in Vietnam, Alex and I used to call each other 'Fearless' and 'Sister'—I was Fearless, she was Sister—so we stuck with that." She paused.

"And Elliot? That's Ettienne's buddy, the Marine, right?"

Olivia nodded, her face breaking into a smile as the waitress came with their orders. "Thank you," she told the woman, and waited until the woman was gone before speaking again. "Yes. We've been partners for over ten years now, and I thought I knew everything about him. I found out that I don't."

"And this is…?" he prompted; the merrily wicked smile on her face just invited comment.

"Elliot was waiting for me when Ettienne brought me back from my first trip there. That was when I found out about codenames, and I asked Elliot if he'd ever had one. He told me no, but Ettienne told me yes. And then Ettienne peeled out of there like he thought Elliot was going to shoot him. Since then I've been hounding him about it and he's either avoiding the topic altogether or changing the subject. He's asked us to call him 'Red', but I was sort of hoping maybe I could find out what his codename was."

Clayton laughed. "I'll see if I can find out for you, how's that?" he grinned.

"I'd appreciate that." They ate in silence for a while, then, curious, he said, "Not that it's any of my business, but…when I read up on you, you aren't married."

She shrugged, but her eyes looked sad. "Just haven't found the right guy, I guess."

"Alex carries your picture with her…we all just sort of assumed…"

Olivia looked searchingly at him. "Are you one of those uptight military types with the 'don't ask, don't tell' policy? Because it sounds like you're asking."

"Um…" He floundered. _How __am __I __supposed __to __tell __her __that __I__'__m __intrigued __by __her?_He didn't have many relationships—a career military man, a General, didn't have that many options. There were very few women at his rank, he couldn't mix with subordinates, and honestly, he didn't want to have to worry about a partner who shared the same job. One of the reasons why Flint went on the same missions with Lady Jaye, why Cover Girl rarely went on missions without Beach Head, and why Scarlett rarely went on missions without Snake Eyes was because Clayton didn't know how his soldiers could bear watching their partner go out on a mission that they could potentially not come back from. He couldn't do it, he didn't know how his soldiers did it, and when he sent the girls out it was with their significant others wherever and whenever possible so that they could look out for each other…and so that if the worst happened, they'd be able to say goodbye. He'd never wanted that.

But at the same time he hadn't really wanted a civilian wife either. He wasn't like Dash; he didn't want a girlfriend who could give him a concussion if she was angry—but he also hadn't wanted to have an 'army wife' situation where she would have to be protected from some of the worst things he saw as a soldier. Added to that, a lot of what he did as General Hawk was classified and he couldn't talk about it, and he never wanted a wife or significant other who didn't understand that there were things he just couldn't talk about. Based on what Alex had told him about her situation, Don, Elliot, and this woman had kept the secret of Alex's existence in Witness protection a secret for two years; there had been newspaper pictures of a funeral, with a closed casket, and he'd seen Olivia and Elliot in full police dress uniform at the front of the crowd of mourners. He'd wondered; how hard must it have been to attend a funeral knowing there was no body in the casket? And later, when it had been revealed that she was alive—they'd been willing to go to jail for perjury to keep her secret.

She was sitting across from him now, challenge in her brown eyes. He finally sighed. "Never mind."

"Uh-uh. You opened the door on this. Why do you want to know?"

"Ettienne…"

"Ettienne and I had a conversation in that Hummer on the way back last time that obviously he didn't share with you or you wouldn't be asking. I believe his exact words were 'This is the strangest conversation I've ever had with a woman in a car'."

Clayton started to laugh, tried to choke it back, and then started coughing as all of that caught up with him. "All right. I earned that, I guess," he said when he got control of himself. "No, it's just…it doesn't matter to me. You're not military, not under my command, and it's absolutely none of my business whatsoever. I just…you're important to Alex and I wanted to know just how involved you two are."

She laughed at him.

He found he didn't mind her laugh, even though she was laughing at him.

"What you're trying so hard _not_ to say is that you're interested in me and you'd like to get to know me better but you don't know if I'm someone else's territory," she said, and he nodded mutely. "Look, I put up with a lot of bullcrap from work. I don't need it from the people I consider friends. Don't dance around the subject, General—"

"Clayton," he corrected her. "When I'm not in uniform I'm Clayton Abernathy."

"—Clayton," she said without missing a beat. "If you have something to say to me just come straight out and say it." She took a sip of her soda. "So. Alex and I are friends, just friends, and while we do choose to spend time with each other, both of us are so damn picky about our men that neither one of us has found the 'right one' yet. I have to admit that I'm interested, and if you'd like to get to know me better I wouldn't mind. _After_ the current emergency is over and Alex is safe. Fair enough?"

He grinned at her. "Fair enough."

As they resumed their meal, she added quietly, "So does this lunch constitute a first date?"

"Do you want it to?" he asked her directly.

"Mmm. Yes, I do." He discovered that he really liked her smile.

"Then I get to pay for it."

Her eyes widened, and then she laughed. "I walked right into that, didn't I."

They paid for the lunch and got back into the Hummer before he remembered the other thing he'd wanted to ask her. "There was something else…" He cleared his throat. "They're moving Alex into a separate room so she can have her privacy and my Doctor can have his medical lab back. But…she doesn't have much. Shana, the operative who went undercover in the ICC, packed up everything she could of Alex's clothing and personal belongings while there and sent as much as she could back—that's how Alex got the dolphin back—but she has no other clothes. Everything she owns right now fits into a cardboard box. I—do you have anything that she can borrow?"

"I have a whole closet full of stuff she can _have_ if she needs it!" Olivia grinned. "Come by tomorrow and I'll try and have some stuff put together for you and waiting in the trunk of my car. Is there anything in particular?"

"Not really. Just things that can be taken off easily if bandages need to be changed, loose comfortable stuff for her lower half. No tight jeans or anything, as much as I think Ettienne would want to see her in something like that."

"I'll keep that in mind." She looked up at the precinct as he pulled to a stop in front of the building. "All right. Back to work."


	4. Chapter 46: Equality

**Chapter 46: Equality**

_So she needs stuff to wear, hmm? Let's see._

Olivia had found herself barely able to concentrate the rest of the day. She'd always loved going shopping with Alex, who'd had impeccable fashion sense and exquisite taste—most of Olivia's court outfits had been chosen by Alex—and they'd traded clothes freely, borrowing items from each other's closets. If Elliot had ever noticed, he hadn't said anything. To think her best friend now lived out of a cardboard box…no wonder she was depressed.

_'Things that can be taken off easily if bandages need to be changed'. Hmm. Button-down shirts, then—or maybe not, zippers would be better because those last couple of fingers on her right hand don't work anymore. Hmm. Oh there's the hoodie from her favorite band she let me borrow the last time we went to the gym. The hoodie went into the suitcase Olivia had opened on her bed. There's that Velcro blouse she got that she liked, and this one laces up, that should be easy._ Several pairs of yoga pants in different colors went into the suitcase next. _Light, loose, comfortable, easy to move in. She lives in those yoga pants outside of the courtroom. Perfect._

The sight of Alex's favorite skinny jeans made her eyes tear up. _She loves those jeans. Absolutely loves them. She looks so good in them too; Ettienne would love seeing her in that. But she can't wear it yet._ The jeans went into a second pile of things she'd give Alex later.

_There's that gypsy blouse I bought for her and she never wore. It's light and comfortable and I bet she could use that now._ First pile. _You know, she never was much of a fan of long skirts, but they'd be really good right now. And these two are in pretty floral colors so it'll help her feel feminine again._ First pile. _No coats or jackets; I don't think she needs those since she's somewhere in a classified military base and they probably wouldn't let her go out, even if she could stand._

Underclothing was next, and she spent a long time deciding. Alex had plain, comfortable stuff for court, and bright, frilly, cute things for outside of court wear. Olivia stared at one soft pink bra, remembering the last time she'd seen Alex in it, and added it to the pile. Not really plain and comfortable, but maybe something pretty, help her feel better.

By the time she was done she had the one suitcase stuffed so full she had to sit on it to close it. _That should give her a decent start. Now I just have to get it down to my car._ Getting it out of her apartment and down the stairs to the garage where her Mustang waited involved some swearing and a lot of effort, but she finally heaved the suitcase into the trunk, closed it, and smiled as she went back up to her apartment.

She hummed a little as she fixed herself a meal, wistfully remembering the times when Alex got out of court early and would be waiting in the apartment when Olivia came home with a hot meal ready. And she'd done the same for Alex on multiple occasions too. She sat at her kitchen table and ate, reflecting on how much she missed Alex.

Well. Alex was safe, and so long as Olivia stayed away from her and the military base, Velez wouldn't be able to touch her. Of somewhat more interest to Olivia at the moment was Clayton Abernathy himself.

_Never saw myself with a career military guy, but he seems like a pretty decent, down-to-earth type. Burgers and cokes. All the military guys I knew were steak and potatoes kinds of guys._ Her lips curved in a smile. _He looks like someone I could sit down and have a real conversation with, someone who wouldn't mind what I do for a living, who wouldn't bug me for the gory details just to satisfy his prurient interest. He looks like someone I could take to Coney Island for the weekend like Alex used to take me, who wouldn't mind a hot dog from a courthouse vendor, who I could take jogging with me in the mornings_. The smile got wider. _Actually he'd probably give me a run for my money; he's military, after all, and even though most of the military higher-ups I've ever seen wouldn't be able to do the same runs as the recruits, he looks like he's stayed in shape and could still do the mile in…whatever the military standard is. He's pretty solidly built._

She remembered a conversation she'd had with Alex a long time ago, when they'd been discussing what kind of man they'd wanted. "I want someone strong, someone who I can feel like I can lean on when I'm tired and can't keep going," Alex had said, her blue eyes thoughtful as she sat on the opposite end of the couch from Olivia, her long legs stretched out so that Olivia could paint her toes. "But I don't want him to feel intimidated because I'm strong. He has to respect that I'm the stronger one mentally and emotionally. I don't want someone who will feel threatened because I can run mental circles around him. I want someone who admires that in me, who doesn't feel that he has to work to a certain standard in order to match me."

Olivia's goals were somewhat different. "I want someone who's every bit as tough and strong as I am. I would like someone who stays in shape and is ready for anything. I want someone who I don't have to hold anything back with and who won't feel like he has to hold anything back with me. I want someone who will fight with me when I want a fight, who will understand that when I get like that it's just job frustration. I want someone who understands that there are some things about my job that I can't talk about, who's willing to let me have my own secrets and won't mind when I don't bug him for his. But he's also got to know when I'm keeping a secret that'll hurt me and get me to let go, even if it means he has to fight with me to do it."

"And of course he has to respect that you're his equal," Alex teased, and Olivia had thrown a pillow at her. "And that's why you don't want Elliot. Regardless of what office scuttlebutt says."

"Oh, office gossip. I swear the precinct has more gossips than a knitting circle at an old folks' home!" Olivia had rolled her eyes. "But yeah, that's why Elliot and I would never work out. He has to feel like he's tougher and stronger, he has to be the dominant, the alpha. He has to be Tarzan with Jane. And he has that with Kathy; she's not his equal, and that doesn't bother her; she's willing to be the wife and mother and let him be the breadwinner. She doesn't push herself to be his equal; she doesn't feel she needs to. And that's why they're perfect. Elliot and I would drive each other nuts in a week if we had to live together. We're great in a work setting, because at work he can accept that I'm his equal, that I'm as tough as he is because we're partners, we're the same rank. Outside of work, though, I'd be fighting him every time he tried to play Tarzan. I am not, and would never be, happy playing Jane."

_But Clayton—jeez, already he's Clayton and not General Abernathy or General Hawk to me—I don't think he wants someone weaker. Sure, he opened the door for me, but I think that was courtesy. Which is nice. He didn't get upset that I'd spotted the tail before he did; his first reaction was to check both our safeties. He did spot the tail as soon as I told him there was one, but he allowed me to tell him not to react…and then followed my lead when I completely ignored that tail at the restaurant. He didn't pick the cheapest item on the menu; he picked what he wanted, and he didn't even check the price of my lunch before he offered to pay for it. Now, granted, he definitely gets paid more than I do, but he's not tight-fisted about it, and he doesn't mind spending it on a friend. Hmm. And while he did ask about Alex and I out of curiosity, when I didn't respond right away he backed off and was willing to let it go if that was what I wanted. He has a sense of humor, and he can laugh at himself, which means he's pretty secure and he doesn't feel the need to push himself to be anyone's equal._ She liked the picture that was shaping around General Clayton Abernathy. _Yes, I do like him and I do think I want to see more of him._

….

"Have you found her yet?"

The man standing in front of Cesar Velez had to try very hard not to cringe, but Velez could see fear in his body language anyway. _Good._ _Fear __is __good_. And he had every reason to fear; with Velez's luxury yacht parked at a nearby marina and Velez himself renting a house in Rockaway until they'd located Alex Cabot, the fact that a billion-dollar druglord like Velez could live this openly without arousing suspicion spoke of a lot of power and money. And those were two very good reasons to be afraid.

Like the Cabot bitch should be afraid. Velez allowed his anger to show; when he got angry, he became even more physically threatening. And people became more afraid. It was a technique he'd used to cow lesser people and subordinates into carrying out his wishes. He was the alpha, the dominant, and he was the unquestioned ruler of everything he happened to see, and anyone who disputed that was going to pay. Dearly.

The only person he had never been able to cow, never been able to intimidate, was the Cabot bitch.

He still remembered the day he'd seen her at the ICC jail. He'd been bored that day; he had the rest of these puling inmates cowering at his feet after having viciously beaten another inmate to death the week before. Sandra Velasquez had sneaked into the prison just the evening before, and the guard had been bribed to turn the other way while Velez enjoyed her charms. He'd taken no pleasure in the act beyond the purely physical; her cries hadn't aroused him at all. He'd been bored.

And then he'd seen the tall blond woman pass in the hallway, and every nerve in his body had snapped tight. Alexandra Cabot! The bitch who had taken down Rafael and lost him almost a year's worth of revenue, who had lost him face within the cartel, who caused the Medellin cartel—_his_ cartel, to lose their dominant position in the Colombian underworld. There had been a power struggle in the vacuum; Velez's colonels and lieutenants had been decimated in the war with the Cali cartel, but he had emerged a winner six months later. It had taken most of the rest of the year to rebuild, but he had managed it in the end, at the cost of a great deal of effort and money, to rebuild his empire.

But he had never forgotten that Alex Cabot had been the cause of the near-collapse of his empire.

At the sight of her in the hallway he'd lost control, one of the few times he'd done so. He'd hissed her name, springing across the cell to launch himself at the bars of the cell, reaching for her. She'd turned to him, her face full of stunned, shocked surprise, and he'd seen an oh-so-brief, tantalizing glimpse of fear in her blue eyes. Then she'd looked up at him, her eyes like blue ice, and said, "Who are you?"

That had rocked him, that she hadn't known who he was, hadn't been aware that he was here. All the time he'd invested in hating her and not once had he realized she didn't even know who he was, what he looked like. He'd stared at her for a shocked second before blurting out his name, hissing it to her, reminding her of what she'd done to him and his empire. She had eyed him icily and shrugged. "If you got your money legitimately you wouldn't be here with this scum," she said. "And no, sorry, haven't thought about you at all."

He'd reached between the bars of his cell and grabbed for her. His hand had closed around her wrist, and he'd felt the warmth of the blood pounding through her veins a moment before the tendons and muscles of her arm jerked with hidden strength, freeing her wrist from his grasp. "Get your hands off me. I am here and you are there and there is not a damn thing you can do to hurt me, so get used to being in that cage like the animal you are!" And she'd walked off, a quick flick of her wrist settling her sleeve back in place.

He'd been completely stunned, staring at the place where she'd been a moment ago, then he'd sat down hard on his bunk. And as he did so fabric rustled, and he felt an odd sensation like his prison uniform had suddenly gotten too tight, and he looked down and swore. He was hard as a rock, every nerve and fiber of himself alive and tingling, and as he moved his hand to feel himself in disbelief, he smelled the perfume Alex Cabot had apparently dabbed on the inside of her wrist on his fingers. That night he'd spurned Sandra's visit in favor of his own hand as he breathed in the scent of Alex Cabot's perfume, and even though he avoided washing his hands for a day, trying to cling to that intoxicating scent of feminine power and strength, it had worn off. He'd eventually allowed Sandra to serve him again, but she didn't excite him anymore; when he was with her he closed his eyes and imagined it was Alex Cabot under him, Alex Cabot's creamy, pale thighs around him, her blue eyes glazed with lust, Alex Cabot crying his name in breathy little pants. In his heated fantasies and in his dreams from then on it had been Alex Cabot.

But his efforts to prove to her that he could still reach her from behind prison bars came to nothing. Acid on the handle of her suitcase, carefully placed there by Sandra; poison in her food once Sandra had stolen and made a duplicate key to Alex's Hague apartment; none of it worked. She never came to see him again, never acknowledged his superiority. He'd had Sandra install wiretapping devices in the apartment; only later had he found out that Sandra herself, jealous that it was Alex and not herself, that Cesar fantasized about, had installed video cameras in Alex's apartment, in an effort to figure out what it was about the blond lawyer that had fascinated Velez so much. He had found out when an inspection of her briefcase one evening by the prison officials turned up photographs of Alex at home; he had promptly ordered her to install more, in the bathroom and the bedroom and these fed his desire and lust for her on the long dark nights.

But as his efforts to get her attention failed, his desires grew darker. No longer was he content to have her under him, calling his name in lust and desire; now he wanted her tied and helpless for him, begging for his mercy and his clemency as he savagely striped her pale skin with livid red welts; Sandra complained that he was bruising her sex when he imagined it was Alex he was punishing with each thrust; and then he chose the most savage of his contacts and concocted an elaborate plan to break her before she died. Three days, were his instructions to Innocent Zimurinda. Three days. Extend her torture out to three days, then kill her when her body is ruined and she is broken.

He'd been furious when she escaped.

Though his anger was somewhat mitigated by the pictures of Alex that his mole in Africa brought back, the realization of all his darkest fantasies and most vivid dreams, it wasn't as good as knowing she was dead. The American general who had played such a crucial role would be killed as soon as the assassin Velez had sent out to dispose of that loose end found him; Velez had no doubt it would be soon. And so he had come up with this plan; aided by Sandra, who had had the poor stupid ICC mail clerk 'drop' an explosive envelope on the ground outside the walls that surrounded the part of the ICC jail that housed Velez. That Eric Reyes had died in the explosion didn't matter to either Sandra or Velez. And then Sandra's obsession had brought two American deep-cover operatives into the heart of Velez's operation, and they had managed to escape, though not before Velez had coordinated a staged misinformation tactic. He'd thought that by faking Sandra's shooting and death that he could impress the two American operatives with his ruthlessness. He still had a team of assassins following those two operatives, who had taken a circuitous route through many airports from Europe to America; but they couldn't hide from Velez forever. They would surface and his assassins would take them out.

In the meantime he was now free to find Alex Cabot.

Not that it had been hard; the American general who had bungled Velez's plans had at least partly redeemed himself with the news that Alex Cabot was in New York. Apparently she was out of reach, even for this American general.

And then that general had disappeared.

Cesar supposed he should be worried about it, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He spent his nights dreaming about what Alex Cabot must have felt as she was tortured in Africa; his days were spent exploring different methods that he could use to break her, how he could outdo what Zimurinda had done to her. He, Cesar Velez, should be the one Alex saw in her nightmares before he killed her, not some African warlord.

And now thanks to this investigator, he'd found the perfect way to get to Alex Cabot; this girlfriend. Cesar allowed himself the luxury of a predatory smile; while it wouldn't be as satisfying as having Alex, he could try out some of these ideas on this girlfriend. He could just imagine her disgust and horror at being raped; a lesbian cop, raped by a man? The thought itself was delicious.

He shook himself out of his reverie; the man standing in front of him had extended a hand with a slip of paper clutched in between the fingers; the address to Alex's girlfriend's apartment. Cesar had determined it was too risky, even for him, to assault a police precinct during the day; better to just conduct a quick, surgical strike, capture her from her apartment. No one would miss her until the next day.

"Good," he said, and fired.

The man never even saw Velez snatch the gun from underneath his coat, never saw the bullet. He was dead before he hit the ground, his eyes still wide with surprise.

Velez strode back to his limousine. "Clean that garbage up," he said brusquely to some of his hired muscle; Colombians, each one. For this, he would use only those he most trusted, only those unswervingly loyal to him. He would need their loyalty to guard him as he watched Alex's girlfriend, until he got her routine down and could order a quick surgical strike to capture the brunette cop. He would not miss this chance to get Alex Cabot. It would end, now. No woman should have this much hold over the most powerful druglord in the world.


	5. Chapter 47: Private

**Chapter 47: Private**

"And here it is."

Courtney opened the door to Alex's new room with a flourish. "It's not exactly an apartment in New York, but…"

"But it's a lot more secure. And it's private." Alex smiled as Shana wheeled her into the room. "And Doc can have his infirmary back."

"I never said that," Doc objected from behind Allie, who'd followed Shana pushing Alex's wheelchair with the small cardboard box that held all of her belongings. Allie had worried about that a bit, looking at the closet space and the generous military-issue footlocker sitting at the foot of the bed, but Shana had just smiled and said that the problem was being worked on.

"You didn't have to," Alex said quietly. "Doc…thank you. I'm so sorry this has—"

"Will you _stop_ apologizing?" Doc shook his head, grinning. "You are not responsible for any of this."

"I still feel guilty about my reactions to you," she insisted, frowning.

"Alex," Doc took both her hands in his, crouching so he could look into her eyes. "You are not responsible for your actions while under drugs. This was no more your fault than being born with dark skin was mine. I don't hold it against you; don't hold it against me." His smile faltered. "My only regret was that the people who did this to you are beyond our reach."

"They'll be called to an accounting someday," Courtney said, her eyes hard. "If not in this life, the next one. They'll rot in hell forever for what they did and I don't feel a bit sorry for them."

"Hey, we're all here," came a new voice, and they all turned to see Clayton and Ettienne standing there with a bulging suitcase dangling from Ettienne's fist. "Got something for you, Alex…"

"That's Olivia's suitcase," Alex whispered, her eyes riveted to it.

"Yes," Clayton said. "It's Olivia's suitcase. She thought you might need a few things."

It took the combined effort of both men to heave the suitcase onto the bed; the bed creaked alarmingly when they put it down. When they got it open, Alex burst into tears. Soft, comfortable loose clothing, all familiar items because she and Olivia had borrowed, passed around, and traded these clothes for years.

"She kept…all my things…"

"You thought she wouldn't? She's your best friend, Alex. Best friends hang onto stuff."

"But…she never came back to see me…it's been a week…"

"Someone has been following her from the precinct to her apartment. That same someone was watching us when we ate lunch three blocks from the station." Clayton ignored the startled but thoughtful look Allie threw his way at that particular revelation.

"Oh my God…Olivia!" Alex's eyes were wide. "If they can't get to me they'll try and get to her!"

"Relax," Clayton said, laying a hand on her shoulder, preventing her from getting up. "Don and Elliot are keeping an eye on her. He's a former Green Beret, Elliot is Ettienne's former buddy from the Marines. I get the feeling from Olivia that there's not a lot that gets past the two of them. And they've both decided she needs protecting."

Alex giggled through her tears. "I'm sure Liv's loving all that extra male protectiveness. She always hates it when the guys put a protective detail on her." She started taking clothes out of the suitcase. "Now where am I going to put this?"

"In here," and Ettienne whisked a neatly-folded blanket from off the footlocker at the end of the bed.

Alex gulped and almost started to cry again. "Oh…you shouldn't have…"

"You are hereby an honorary Joe," Clayton said, grinning broadly. "Congratulations."

They had painted her name on the footlocker in large white military letters; Private Alexandra Cabot. Alex stared at it, awed that they would go to this length to make this place home, for however long it took to remove Velez from her life forever. "I skipped boot camp and went straight to the fun part," she said.

"Alex, you went through a harder boot camp than any of us ever did. You've earned these," and Alex saw with disbelief as Shana raised the lid of the chest that there were two changes of military fatigues in there, and the jacket sleeves bore the single chevron of an enlisted Private as well as her last name stitched on a Velcro patch attached to the front. "Don't wear those now, but maybe as you heal a little bit, once Doc clears you, you can join us in some light training to get back your muscle tone and stamina." Alex nodded, overwhelmed. She didn't know how long she was going to be here, but if she were going to hide she might as well blend in.

"Allie? Allie, where are you?" came a voice from the hall, and before anyone could move Dash appeared in the doorway of Alex's room. "Oh, sorry, General," he said to Clayton, then edged around him to find Allie. "Is Allie in here…oh…" his eyes fell on Alex sitting in the wheelchair. "Uh, sorry," he said and started to back out.

Shana flew across the room, grabbed a handful of his shirt, and manhandled him to the end of Alex's bed. "Help her unpack," she demanded, then grabbed Allie and Courtney's arms and yanked them physically out of the room. Allie, after one startled glance at Shana, didn't protest; Clayton and Ettienne, seeing Shana's look, wisely decided to make themselves scarce. In what seemed like a very short time, the room was empty except for Alex and Dash, staring uncomfortably at each other.

Dash felt himself staring; he couldn't help it. Despite what she'd gone through, she was still a lovely woman. And maybe it was because of what she'd gone through…yes, she was thinner, her face lined with pain, her blue eyes haunted, but there was strength and character in her face now. "Alex, I—"

Alex's first thought was, _Oh __Jesus. __This __whole __mess __has __been __hell __on __him._ Dash was thinner, paler; there was an uncertain set to his shoulders that hadn't been there when they'd been tramping through the jungle. "Dash, I—"

They both stopped at the same time. Then, "You first," again simultaneously.

Alex chuckled a little. "Hold on. Let me get out of this wheelchair, it's not the most comfortable seat." She levered herself out of it, and Dash stepped over, hovering, as she took the two slow, halting steps over to the bed and sat down beside the overflowing suitcase. "Dash, I'm…I'm so sorry."

"You have _nothing_ to be sorry for," he said fiercely. "Stop apologizing. _None_ of this was your fault. We've all been manipulated by Cesar Velez."

"Not…not the mission. It's…it's what I did to _you._" Alex heard her voice break, tried to swallow he lump in her throat as her voice dropped to a whisper. "I…I can see it…you're not as forceful as you usually are, and…" tears spilled out of her eyes as she picked at an imaginary thread on the crisp army-issue blanket. "Shana told me…you and A-Allie…"

Dash dropped into the wheelchair beside Alex's bed, propping his elbows on his knees. "Alex, for Christ's sake, you can't think any of this was your fault. Allie and I…well…" he cleared his throat. "I'm not going to lie to you and say it wasn't about you; she's been saying I need to talk to you if I wanted my…my nightmares to stop." And it was so hard for him to admit that fact, that he was having nightmares. He was a leader, their leader, for pity's sake, how could he lead anyone when he couldn't even get a decent night's sleep for the images that haunted his dreams? "I just…I couldn't…you have your own problems to deal with, I couldn't come and unload them on you."

"Allie's been an absolute saint through all of this," Alex said quietly, with a ghost of a smile. "She's trying so hard to be there for both of us, trying not to show how much it bothers her. I just…I know she just wants to make this easier on everyone, but I can't…I can't talk to her about…when I woke up and saw you in the village, Dash, you were, oh God, just bleeding everywhere, and I felt so damn guilty…"

"None of this was your fault, Alex!" He would say that as many times as he had to in order to get her to believe that.

"It was!" she wailed, giving in to her grief and anguish. "It was my fault you were there, my fault we were all there, and oh God, if I'd just walked out there and surrendered myself, it wouldn't have happened like it did! He hit me, and then he looked at you, and I was so afraid he'd start hitting you, start hurting you, and I knew I had to make sure you survived to make it back to Allie and the team, so I told him he'd have to do better. I had to get all of his attention on me so he wouldn't hurt you."

"You…you taunted him deliberately?" Jesus, the amount of pain she'd taken because of those taunts—he'd assumed she'd just been defiant. He didn't know she'd done it deliberately…for him.

"I didn't want him to hurt you, Dash, you and the team were the innocents in all of this. You didn't ask for any of this and I had to try and protect you as much as I could."

"Oh Christ." Dash's mind involuntarily flashed back to the scene in the camp; Alex, hanging by bloody wrists from the tree, screaming as she absorbed blow after blow from Zimurinda's fists and the brutal pistol whipping. And later, when she had barely been able to move—he remembered her lying on the muddy ground, tears coursing down her face as she watched them prepare to start hitting him, as she croaked at them to stop, that she was the one they wanted, not him; he had heard her screaming start as they cuffed her hands behind her, tied rope to the cuffs and pulled her wrists up behind her back until she was hanging in an agonizing strappado, and they'd started whipping her.

"Alex… if he'd split his attention between both of us you wouldn't have been hurt as badly."

"I didn't care!" she cried. "Dash, I knew when I went out I wasn't coming back. I would have rather died than to see them hurt you. You didn't ask for this, any of it. It was my fault for pissing off Cesar Velez, and you just got caught in the middle." She finished with a choked, "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault. It's okay, Alex. I don't blame you for any of this, and I don't regret a single minute. Every bruise, every cut, every lash I took saved you from any more pain, and I don't regret most of it."

"Even when I raped you?" Alex pulled away, hunched her shoulders. "I'm sorry for that too…I hoped you wouldn't remember, that you wouldn't feel guilty because you thought I'd…" she shuddered.

"I remembered. Oh God," Dash whispered as the worst images from his dreams, his nightmares came rushing back. "I see it again and again, in my nightmares—the look on your face when they pushed me into you, Jesus, it had to have hurt…" but she was shaking her head.

She took a deep breath, dropped her eyes, as if she couldn't look at him while she spoke. "The reason Clancy's words hurt so much—I knew he was a sick bastard, and I knew when I walked in there he'd say something that would make me want to kill him…but he was right."

"He wasn't right, Alex, you'll have plenty—" but she was shaking her head.

"Even with all the pain and the rapes, I could feel my body trying to respond to yours. I know, on an intellectual level, that neither one of us could control what our bodies did, and that it didn't mean anything, but the…pleasure…I got when you…when you…finished…just made some of the pain a little more bearable. So when Clancy said…he hoped I'd 'enjoyed' it…" She choked.

And he couldn't stand it anymore, he sat on the bed next to her and hugged her tightly, feeling the thinness of her body, the feel of her shoulder blades and ribs standing out so prominently under the thin shirt she wore, but ignoring it in his desperation to somehow let her know that he understood. "Alex, if what I did helped you bear the rest of what they did to you, then I'm glad it happened," he whispered into her hair, feeling the weight, the burden of guilt lift off his shoulders. "If you never have a physical relationship again, if the damage done was too extensive, at least…your last time…"

"Thank you," She was crying into his shoulder, gentle healing tears of grief and sorrow instead of the hot, hurting anguished tears she'd started with. "Thank you, Dash." And there was nothing else to say, as he held her and let her cry.

Outside Alex's room Shana wiped her own eyes. "Damn." Then she looked at Allie. "You okay, Allie?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I didn't…" Allie turned away from Alex's door, blinded by tears. Shana followed her to her room, closed the door after her.

When Allie didn't say anything immediately, Shana said, "Allie. Talk to me. Come on, we've been friends almost since you came. Just us against the guys, remember? You can tell me anything. Is it about Dash and Alex?"

"No. Yes. I don't know." Allie shrugged. "No, it's not about Dash 'raping' Alex. Military expediency, remember? And we both know pleasure can cancel out a lot of pain…whenever you or Snake Eyes comes back injured from a mission you're practically connected together at the hip." Shana blushed, but nodded. "And yes, because…because I'm wondering if Dash will ever be able to…well…with me now that he has that rattling around in his head. And Alex…if that's the last time she ever experiences pleasure again, will he…can he…let go of it, of her?"

"Okay, the other stuff I understand but that last was just _stupid_, Allie. You are the _only_ one for Dash. Always has been, always will be. You two should just get married and get it over with because nothing's ever going to split the two of you up. _In __fact_," she said, drowning out whatever Allie had been about to say to the age old 'you should get married' line Shana had been teasing her with for the last few years, "Didn't you guys just have an argument? And now that Dash and Alex have talked, maybe it's time to make up?" she grinned mischievously.

"Hey Dash."

Dash looked up as Allie gave his door a token tap before she walked in. "Still mad at me?" he asked tentatively.

"Sweetheart." She wrapped arms around him, ignoring the fact that he'd just gotten out of the shower and was wearing nothing but a towel. "I wasn't mad, I was just…frustrated. Both of you were hurting so much but neither one of you wanted to talk and there was absolutely nothing that I could do to make it any better."

"I'm sorry, Allie." He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her hair, inhaling her familiar perfume. "I'm so sorry about all of this, Allie. Forgive me?"

"Of course." She gave a soft sigh, snuggling into his chest, and they stood for long moments. She could feel the tension slowly draining from his body, felt the softening of the muscles under her hands. "I told you you'd feel better after you talked to her."

"This once, Allie, I'm not going to complain about you saying 'I told you so'."

"Oh, really?" She raised an eyebrow as she faced him, grinning. "You must be _really_ sor—" The rest of her words were lost in his kiss as he captured her lips with his.

He hadn't meant for it to turn into anything more, but as she responded to his kiss, his body reminded him that it had been a while. Two months had passed since he'd made love to Allie, and his body didn't care about the forced incident with Alex, he wanted _Allie,_ and he wanted her _now_. Unable to ignore the insistent demand, he carried her with him over to his bed, ignoring the towel as it fell to the floor, and minutes later Allie was crying his name as he moved inside her. No force, no pain, no emotional turmoil, and Jesus, but it was so damn _good,_ he'd missed her so damn _much_…


	6. Chapter 48: Chess Game

**Chapter 48: Chess Game**

"Alex? Are you up?"

Alex blew out her breath as the button on the front of her shirt slipped out of her grasp yet again. "Yes, I'm up."

Her room—quarters, she had to remember they called these 'quarters'—door opened, and Allie poked her had in. "How are you doing?"

Alex patiently grabbed the button again. "I'd be better if I could get this buttoned. No, don't help, I need to learn how to function without these two fingers." She managed to keep her voice steady as she patiently tried to work the button through the hole.

And it slipped again. "Damn it!"

The expletive slipped out before she could stop herself, as did the tears in her eyes. She blinked hard, hoping Allie wouldn't notice, but of course it was a vain hope. "You know, I never realized just how much I use these two fingers before, until now they don't work." She tried to keep her tone light.

"The fatigues don't have buttons," Allie supplied helpfully.

Alex sighed. "I've been trying to avoid wearing them."

"Aside from the fact that your skin is still tender and they're heavy, is there any other reason why?"

"I'm not actually one of you. And I know how touchy real military can be about posers."

"Whoa," Shana said, poking her had in; she'd been walking by in the hall. "I heard that. One, Alex, you're not a poser; you are one of us, for the time being, so you have every right to wear the fatigues if you want to. Two, no one here is going to be touchy about anything. Except maybe Etienne when someone comments on your looks."

"What? What do you mean?"

"One of the new recruits saw you in the mess hall the other evening pushing food around your plate. After you left he made a comment about you being too skinny to be picky. Ettienne almost wiped the floor with him."

"Oh no." Alex looked distressed.

"Don't feel bad. The recruit who made that comment is a troublemaker and he's had it coming for a while. I just taught him a lesson in the dojo, let's see if he'll remember it in the morning. In the meantime, I'm off to have some fun with Snake Eyes that will hopefully leave a deeper impression."

"You're going off to have some fun. With Snake Eyes." Allie's eyes narrowed.

Shana grinned. "Yep."

"And I assume he recruits will be there too?"

"Yep."

"Mind if I bring one more?" Allie nodded in Alex's direction.

"Sure. In fact, we'll put on a special show just for you." Shana blew a kiss in Alex's direction. "See you in the gym in ten minutes."

Alex looked quizzically at Allie as Shana disappeared. "Fun? Should I ask? How does a ninja master have fun?" She'd met Snake Eyes in passing, and the man was understandably intimidating, with the solid black body armor and the inscrutable mask. Having seen some of the looks she'd gotten from recruits as she passed them in the halls—her scars garnered her second and third looks—she could understand and sympathize with his desire to cover his face. It didn't make him any less unsettling, though.

"You'll see." Allie was grinning. "You're definitely not going to want to miss this. Come on."

Despite feeling odd in the fatigues, Alex noticed that no one seemed to give her a second look as she followed Allie to the gym. And despite the fact that her skin was still tender in some places, the fatigues weren't all that uncomfortable to wear, something which surprised her. She'd thought the heavy fabric would rub and chafe, but they didn't. _I __could __get __used __to __this,_ she thought. And then they rounded the corner to the gym and she stopped thinking.

The mat in the center of the gym was clear except for two people. Both were dressed in black, and the only difference was the distinctly feminine shape inside one of those all-black uniforms. That and the distinctive red hair. Allie led her into the gym and stopped just on the edge of the huge floor mat, where they sat down. Scarlett's green eyes flickered sideways, the only indication that she knew Allie and Alex were there, then she gave Snake Eyes, across from her, a warrior's bow, folded over her clasped fists, and he returned the gesture in kind.

Courtney was sitting next to a small radio on the opposite edge of the mat; as if that was the signal she was waiting for, she turned it on.

Alex had never seen anything like it. Scarlet and Snake Eyes moved together, like one person in two bodies; smoothly, fluidly, two shadows sliding over the mat accompanied by a steady drum beat on the small radio. A set of exercises seemingly designed to stretch every muscle, work every part of the body; _katas_, Alex's mind supplied helpfully from having watched martial arts movies with Liv, but she was too engrossed in the beauty and fluidity of the movement to try to quantify and objectify it.

The drum beat increased tempo, and so did the two shadows. Now they moved separately, yet still harmoniously, in time and rhythm, each one mirroring the movements of the other on the opposite side of the mat. There was a little more contact; a brush of an elbow here, the end of the tie that held back Scarlett's hair caressed the side of Snake Eyes' face in a gesture that Alex wasn't quite sure was meant to be accidental.

The drum beats stopped with them facing each other. When they started back up, it was a measured, somehow anticipatory beat; Scarlett faced Snake Eyes and both drew their swords at the same time. Alex gasped as she saw sharpened steel slide out of sheaths with a bare whisper of sound "They aren't going to fight each other with real sharpened steel?" she whispered to Allie.

"Wait and see. This is the best part of the show." Allie was smiling at Alex's look; Alex settled back, eyes riveted on the two figures now circling each other on the mat. Then, silently, they lunged for each other as the music swelled to an orchestral crescendo.

Steel rang as swords clashed. A moment of straining in which Alex's heart was in her mouth, expecting that the swords would break, or that one person's muscles would give out, dumping that person on the point of the other person's sword; then they disengaged, a practiced fluid move that consisted of flinging each other free. They circled each other, clashed again as the music picked up tempo. This time when they disengaged it seemed like someone had interrupted their fight; both Snake Eyes and Scarlet turned their backs to each other and started attacking an invisible enemy. Shining steel flashed in a wide arc around the two black-clad figures; there was no way an enemy would be getting to either person, not with both equally fast, equally deadly.

The music changed again, slowed slightly; with the outside danger eliminated, the two figures were free to once again resume their quarrel. And yet, to Alex's eyes, there was something indefinably different about the fight. Swords were sheathed in the same fluid move, and the sparring continued in hand-to-hand; but there was something in the way a hand lingered a moment longer against a wrist, a leg swept out against another one; there was suddenly something…well, sensual…about the way the two figures were fighting now. And then Scarlett swept Snake Eyes' legs out from under him, and somehow as he rolled over he took her with him, and when the music stopped, they stopped too—with Scarlett straddling Snake Eyes' hips, her hands pinning his wrists to the mat over his head, their faces maybe inches away from each other, chests heaving with their panted breaths. And even though Scarlett didn't lean in that last extra inch to kiss him, Jesus, you could practically see that she wanted to. Alex felt heat flush her face, and across the mat, she saw Ettienne. Their eyes locked and she suddenly wondered what kissing him would feel like.

Horrified at herself, she dropped her eyes, and didn't look back as the watching crowd started to filter out of the gym.

"Private Cabot? General Hawk is looking for you." Just in time; she could see Allie looking thoughtfully at the flush on her cheeks, and she would have bet that the ex-British intelligence agent knew exactly why she was blushing! "He's waiting in the rec room for you."

"Thank you." And she fled Allie's gently understanding smile.

"You wanted to see me, General?"

Hawk looked up as he heard the voice at the rec room door. "Yes, come on in. And please…right now we're both off duty, and when off duty call me Clayton."

"All right…Clayton."

"Please have a seat." He indicated an easy chair across the coffee table across from him. "I just wanted to make sure you knew The Rules that go along with your new rank."

"A Private? I thought I was just a grunt, there to follow orders." Alex smiled wryly, and he smiled back.

"First: here are your dog tags." He handed her a standard-issue bead chain with the two practically indestructible tags hanging off it. "There is your name and service number. You wear these at all times. It's a way of making sure you don't go MIA; if someone finds them they'll know who you are."

"Okay." She slipped the chain over her head and tucked it under her fatigue top.

"And here's your account." He slid a book across the table.

She stared at it, stunned. "What?"

"Your account. I did some checking per the paperwork Scarlett brought back from the ICC and found your bank account. It's been emptied and closed, the bank thinks it was done fraudulently, but since you've officially been declared dead and your social security number has been deactivated, they haven't investigated."

"Oh my God. I really _have_ lost everything." She looked stunned. "Christ, what am I going to do when this is over? I have nowhere to go, no home, no…" her voice trailed off.

"And that's why there is an account started for Private Cabot. I couldn't set it up at a bank because that would require a Social Security number, but your pay vouchers can be drawn on the Army once you get out. It's not much but you should be able to start over."

"That's…extraordinarily generous…My God, you really do think of everything, don't you?"

"I try to," Clayton said cheerfully. "One of my hobbies is chess, so I try to look at everything from that perspective. " He waved a hand at a table in the corner, where a chess game in progress was laid out.

"May I?" At his nod, she wandered over to the table and studied it for a few minutes. He noticed as she walked that while she still moved carefully and her hip movement was still stiff, the rest of her moved a little more freely and she didn't seem to be in as much pain.

"If you move that knight it will open your queen to an attack. What side are you playing, white or black?"

"You play?" He got up from his desk and joined her, looking down at the board. "I mostly play myself, since there aren't that many people on base who do. The majority of us as soldiers prefer our fights to be…a bit more physical." He made a rueful face. "I have to admit, the gym sees more of me that the table does."

He watched Alex studying the board intently, then her fingernail delicately tapped the white bishop. "White bishop to e5."

He grinned, reached down, and moved the piece to the square she'd indicated, then moved a black piece. "Black queen to g8."

"White queen retreats." Alex looked at him; at his nod, she moved the piece back on a diagonal.

"Here." Clayton pulled a chair over to the table, then indicated Alex should do the same with hers. Seeing this, some of the soldiers in the room currently off-duty and playing pool on the table in the back of the room put down their cues and drifted over to watch. He saw Dash among them, and spared a thought to wonder what the Warrant Officer thought before his attention was pulled back to the game.

Thirteen moves later, Alex was faced with having to choose between her bishop and her knight. He watched her watch the board, knew what move she was going to make before she made it.

White queen sacrificed herself to save two of her pieces.

White lost, naturally. He sat back and looked at her as she studied the board after her resignation. "Interesting move."

She grinned crookedly at him. "Instead of saving one or the other, sacrificing my queen? I've just never been one for letting others pay the price for my mistakes."

"Sometimes in order to win you have to accept that you will lose some of the pawns."

She shook her head. "I know it seems cliché, the old 'it's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game' but I've never been one to look at a win at the cost of the people around me as a win. My court cases—there was never a winner. The very fact that I had a case to prosecute meant that someone had already lost." Her blue eyes darkened, looked haunted. "The first group of soldiers who went out into the jungle with me… they lost, in the worst way possible. And they didn't have to. I was the one who went out there, at Clancy's insistence, and a lot of good people died who didn't have to. Their deaths were my responsibility." She blew out a breath. "Flint was my responsibility."

Before Clayton could warn her that Dash was standing right behind her Dash stepped up to the board, picking up the white queen, and held it up in front of her. "All the different pieces have separate responsibilities, different capabilities. It takes an experienced player to know how to coordinate, to play each capability off each other, to know which combinations will be most effective at getting that win. And even with the best plans, sometimes a random move by the other side can open possibilities that weren't there, or close a door that you thought was permanently open. They thought they had you, Alex. They thought your death was certain. But here you are."

"Are we talking about chess or war?" she asked him with a smile, but he didn't smile back; he was serious.

"It's called life. It's not neatly laid out in squares like a chess game." Dash said. "And sometimes guilt can cripple a commander. One of the things about command is that you have to know what's important, you have to be able to see the big picture. You need to know when to acknowledge that it was your mistake when something happened, or when it was someone else's. And you have to learn not to let the guilt cripple you. Take it and learn from it, don't let it hobble you and make you indecisive." He handed her the white queen. "Don't miss the forest for the trees—but don't forget that each tree makes up the forest. It's a fine line."

She stared thoughtfully at it for long minutes, then leaned over to put it back on the board. Clayton shook his head. "No. Take that and think about it. We have several sets of pieces." He opened the drawer under the table and selected another white queen piece, added it to the board. Alex slipped it into her pocket as he reset the board…then looked at him speculatively. "Another game?" she asked.

He grinned. "You're on. I don't have to be General Hawk for another couple of hours."


	7. Chapter 49: Village

**Chapter 49: Village**

"She loved the clothes."

"Was everything I picked out all right?" Olivia studied Clayton anxiously over her glass. "I tried to follow your instructions about light, loose and comfortable but I wanted her to have something pretty too. For her as well as Ettienne."

"Playing matchmaker?" he teased her, eyes warm.

She smiled. "Guilty. I don't know him that well, but what I have seen of him makes me think she'd like him too, if she'd give him a chance. How is her recovery going?"

"She's actually doing a lot better." And even Doc had been surprised. Since Alex and Dash had talked, her recovery had progressed rapidly. Whatever emotional issues had been cleared up in that conversation had an impact on her physical state as well as her mental state. "The last of the stitches came out yesterday. She's still tender and sore, but some low-grade painkillers are keeping that under control. She's standing and walking for longer periods of time and she's smiling a little more." He grinned. "At Ettienne, mostly. I took pity on him and gave him light duty so he doesn't feel bad about shirking duty to spend time with her."

"Thanks."

"Doc's still a little worried about her weight, she doesn't seem to have much of an appetite but Ettienne and Allie and Shana are bringing in lots of junk food and high calorie stuff, and she's eating that, so I think it's just that she can't stand base food."

"Like you?" Olivia grinned at his surprised expression. "Come on. We had lunch four days ago and breakfast three days ago. And now we're here having dinner. You're obviously looking for a way out of eating base food, or you just really like my company."

Clayton grinned as he speared another bite of steak. "Actually both."

'Here' was the Knickerbocker Bar and Grill in Greenwich Village, a tasteful, slightly upscale place with lovely hardwood, tasteful live music, and the best steak Clayton had ever eaten. When he'd met Olivia coming out of the precinct and offered to take her to dinner (ostensibly to thank her for putting together the suitcase for Alex but also because he wanted to see more of her,) she'd looked at him challengingly for a second, then said, "I had court today, so I'm pretty much dressed for whatever you're up to. Surprise me." And since military off-duty fatigues were accepted virtually everywhere, she hadn't had any clue to where they were going. He'd picked the Knickerbocker because it was his favorite place to eat and he'd wanted to subtly give her a little more information about himself.

From the way she'd smiled when they parked (and he'd opened the door for her) she liked his taste. It wasn't the kind of stiflingly-dignified establishment that General Clancy and most of the guys at Clayton's rank favored; this was the kind of place where a couple of soldiers on leave could sit down, have a good steak and quiet conversation, or if they were looking for a little more life, sitting at the bar nursing a couple of beers and flirting with whoever happened to also be there was always an option. Flint and Lady Jaye loved this place, and after coming here one day Clayton had fallen in love with it too. The wait staff knew him, were familiar with his coming in alone, had looked at him in slight surprise when they saw him come in with a companion but hadn't otherwise commented. He wondered if Olivia had picked up on the surprised looks—

"So you come here often." Yep, she'd caught it. There didn't seem to be much she missed, he reflected as he studied her, waiting for her to continue. "The wait staff knew you; they showed you to this table without hesitation. You obviously hadn't known I'd leave choice of restaurant up to you, so you couldn't have called ahead for a reservation, which means they pretty much save this one for you. But they looked surprised to see me, which means you don't bring women here often, or when you do, it's probably a group of your people with you because this booth is big enough for six."

"I love listening to your mind work," he said dryly as he wiped his fingers on his napkin and took a swallow of his soda.

"Yes, you do, or you wouldn't give me so many opportunities to dissect you," she said with a twinkle in her eye as she pushed the remains of her own steak aside.

"Now _I__'__m_ the guilty one." He smiled as he pushed his own plate aside, nodded to the waitress who came to take his plate, then faced Olivia again. "You're right, I do come here enough that they know me. But they haven't seen me come in with a female civilian, I'm usually here with Dash and Allie and a couple of the guys. Shana and Snake Eyes don't go out that often—he can be a little self-conscious about his looks and the fact that he can't talk can sometimes be awkward, and Courtney and Wayne prefer something…a little more down-to-earth."

Olivia chuckled. "I take it that means they prefer the dives. I'm guessing they get in a lot more trouble."

Clayton rolled his eyes. "There's a bar down on the Eastside that's owned by a retired buddy of mine. It's in a much rougher neighborhood, and Courtney and Wayne love it there, but they can get a little…enthusiastic. About a month ago he called me up, my direct line, which he hardly ever does, and said, "Your kids are having a wonderful time, come and get them."

Olivia chuckled. "Cleanup duty?"

"Yep. And I docked their pay for the damages, too."

Olivia winced. "Ouch."

At the sound of her voice a guy who'd just been seated at a neighboring table turned around. "Liv? Liv Benson?"

She turned with a smile, but when she saw the dark-haired olive-skinned guy sitting there, she said, "Hello, Nick," and turned back around, coolly ignoring him.

He apparently wasn't going to let that go. "It's been ages since I've seen you! How are you doing?" He got up from his table and stood at theirs, and even from where he stood Clayton could smell alcohol on his breath; apparently his evening was well under way.

"Fine, thank you," she snapped, just short of being rude.

"Well, I can see that, I've been keeping track of you in the news. Doing pretty well for yourself, aren't you?" He leaned over and held a hand out to Clayton. "Nick Ganzner. Olivia and I go way back."

_Hmm. __I __gather __she __wishes __you __didn__'__t,_ Clayton thought, but took the other man's hand briefly anyway. "Clayton Abernathy."

Apparently this guy couldn't take a hint, or he was too drunk to care that neither Olivia nor Clayton was showing any signs of friendliness. He slid into the booth on Olivia's other side, stopping just outside her personal space. Her face was frozen into a coldly impassive mask, but Clayton could see irritation and…was that some uncertainty?—in her eyes. "Nick, I'm having dinner. I'm sure your girlfriend would like to order as well."

"My girlfriend. You're supposed to be my girlfriend." He inched closer.

_Jesus, __what __an __asshole. __He __keeps __scooting __over __like __that __she__'__s __gonna __belt __him __one. __Come __to __think __of __it, __if __he __keeps __this __up _I'm _gonna __belt __him._

"It's been a very long time since I was your anything, Nick," Olivia snapped, not even trying to be polite anymore. "Just go away."

"You do know what she does for a living?" Nick addressed Clayton, completely ignoring Olivia. "She investigates sex crimes. Like, kids getting raped and stuff. I always wondered if she got her kicks looking at those photos."

Clayton rose from the booth involuntarily. What the hell was this guy thinking, saying that in front of a restaurant full of people? Heads were turning at nearby tables at the commotion.

"Go away, Nick," Olivia hissed, all pretense of politeness gone.

"No. You go. Sick people like you shouldn't be around decent people like us."

Oh, that was enough. Clayton waved a hand to a nearby server, who disappeared and came back moments later with the manager. "Can I help you, sir?" the manager asked Clayton.

"My friend and I are trying to enjoy our dinner. Please see to it that this civilian stops bothering us." His tone on the word 'civilian' made it sound like a swearword.

The manager turned to the asshole. "I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to leave."

Ganzner stared at the manager, then at Clayton. "Who the hell is _he_ that he can have _me_ thrown out?" he snapped at the manager.

Hawk stepped out of the booth, took a handful of Ganzner's sleeve, and hauled him upright with one hand. "General Clayton Abernathy, United States Army. That's 'General' with two stars, so I advise you to forget you ever knew Olivia Benson's name." He leaned in close to the other man, his eyes hard as steel. "In fact, you might want to forget you even know who she is."

"No. It's all right. I'm leaving." Olivia got up, grabbing her purse, and said quietly, "Please let me know how much the dinner was and I'll pay you back later." And she was gone.

Clayton paused for a moment. _Should __I __wipe __the __floor __with __this __cretin, __or __go __after __Olivia?_ The manger solved it for him. "I'll take care of him, sir, if you'd like to step out after your friend. Don't worry about the meal; consider it on the house as our apology for this disturbance." Clayton nodded brusquely and hurried out after Olivia.

She was already halfway down the block heading back toward the precinct; he quick-marched until he caught up with her, then fell into step beside her. "You didn't have to leave. He was the one creating the disturbance, not you."

"I'm sorry I embarrassed you." She stopped walking so suddenly that he passed her by a few strides and had to turn.

"Okay. What is it with you and Alex, apologizing for things that aren't your fault?" He kept his tone light. "And how were you embarrassing me? Whoever that asshole was, he was embarrassing himself."

"Nick and I went out a long time ago. I broke it off when he said he wanted to act out the rape case I was investigating."

Involuntarily Clayton's mind flashed back to Alex's medical file. "Oh my God, I'm surprised you didn't arrest him right there."

Her lips quirked in the beginning of a smile. "Last time I checked, being an asshole wasn't an arrestable offense."

"No, but being a pervert is." He shook his head. "How sick was that?" He peered closely at her. "Hey. You don't think for a moment that I actually believed him when he said you got your kicks from your cases, do you?" She didn't answer. "Let me guess; I just ran into the reason why you're still single. And why you hang out with Alex so much."

She sighed. "Yeah." She faced him squarely, hands on her hips. "And now you have a decision to make."

He frowned. "What decision? Your job is your job. Like being a soldier is mine. I guarantee I've seen worse things than you for sheer goriness, but yours is harder. I don't envy you, I don't know how you and Alex do it, and I'm wondering why so many of the guys you've gone out with couldn't see that it takes a very special person to be able to do the job you do. And how they could not support that special person is beyond me."

A slow smile spread across her face. "I've never had anyone put it that way before."

"Then you haven't met the right people."

Her laugh rang out, and he let go the breath he'd been mentally holding. He had the feeling he'd just passed some kind of internal test. "Obviously I haven't met the right person, or I wouldn't still be single," she said. "All you." They backtracked toward the Hummer, parked by the curb.

Her hand was on the door handle when the first shot rang out.


	8. Chapter 50: Fire

**Chapter 50: Fire**

"Get down!"

General Hawk spared one minute to think, incredulously, _Isn__'__t __that __supposed __to __be __my __line?_ But Olivia had already ducked around the back of the Hummer and crouched behind the vehicle, and there was what looked like an incredibly huge gun dwarfing her hands _.40 __caliber,_ a distant part of his mind identified, but the other, conscious part of him was already reacting.

A hidden seam in the wheel well yielded another 40 caliber, and he palmed the safety back as he peered over the hood of the Hummer. The matte black paint disguised the Hummer's armored 'second skin', courtesy of a long-ago experiment by Courtney and the rest of the garage crew; while bullets would scratch and dent the surface skin of the Hummer, the engine and 'vital organs' of the vehicle were still safe and secure under the armor.

There was a large black SUV stopped in the middle of the street; the unmistakable sight of automatic rifle barrels poked out from behind the just-this-side-of-legal dark-tinted windows. He was still taking in details when Olivia sprang up from a crouch beside him, paused for a half-second to take aim, then fired. He hadn't even expected she could handle the gun, much less fire it, so the scream coming from the inside of the SUV caught him by surprise. _She __actually __hit __somebody __in __there!_

And then there was no more time to think, just react, as the occupants of the SUV opened fire. He and Olivia dropped back behind the Hummer; he barely had enough time to gasp out, "The Hummer';s armored, so don't worry about them hitting us."

She had her cell phone out. "911, this is Detective Olivia Benson, Manhattan SVU, badge 4015. 10-14, 10-14, shots fired, I repeat, shots fired, officer needs help!"

He approved. _Quick __thinking. __Instead __of __calling __her __partner, __call __the __entire __police __force. __They __can__'__t __shoot __up __this __much __of __a __public __street __without __attracting __some __very __unwanted __attention._ And his guess proved to be right; he managed to empty his clip, eliciting two more screams from the occupants of the SUV's, and Olivia managed to get one more, before the distant sound of sirens made the driver of the SUV decide he'd had enough and peeled out of there.

Olivia ran out into the middle of the street to squeeze off two more shots, but as she turned back to the Hummer and Clayton her cell phone was in her hand. "Calling your partner?" he asked her as he scanned the street for any more potential hostiles. After the first few gunshots, most of the people in the street had taken cover behind vehicles or had run into neighboring shops and store, and were only now cautiously poking their head out to see what the fuss had been about.

"In a minute. I got a partial plate number." He was impressed that she'd have thought that fast, to try and get a plate, and he told her so. She gave him a wry smile as she put the phone to her ear. "Not the first time I've been shot at. After the first couple of times you get used to it."

_Damn. __I __thought __getting __shot __at __was __an __occupational __hazard __for __my __people. __Never __quite __saw __it __as __an __occupational __hazard __for __cops __too._ She was talking into her phone now, and he'd guess it was to her partner. "El. Yeah, I'm okay. I was out at Knickerbocker's with a _hawk_eyed friend of ours when a troop of guys in an SUV did a drive by in the street. Got a partial plate." She looked troubled. "I don't know if it's tied in to Alex or not."

Clayton sucked in a harsh breath, turned to look down the street in the direction the SUV had gone. It hadn't occurred to him that this might not have been just New York City crime; it hadn't occurred to him that this could have been an effort to get Olivia by the same guys who'd gotten Alex. The thought of Olivia in the hands of the madman who'd orchestrated the conspiracy against Alex Cabot made him want to grind his teeth. _No.__You__'__re __not __touching __Alex __again __and __you__'__re __**not **__getting __Olivia!_

"Is there any way they could have been after you?" Olivia had finished her conversation with Elliot and turned to Clayton.

"I…don't know. I'm one random soldier. There are a lot of soldiers out there in the city. When I'm off base I don't wear anything that indicates my rank, so unless my base has been compromised, no one would have known I was having dinner with you this evening."

"I'm pretty sure you trust your people but I have to ask…are you positive your base…" but she stopped because he was shaking his head.

"No. It's not even a consideration. Every single person on that base has been handpicked by me personally. I would not only trust them with my life, I trust them with Alex's."

"Oh." Then, "Sorry."

"Don't worry. It's your job to be suspicious." She smiled at him just as a two balding, uniformed men came up.

"Detective Benson," said the shorter, rounder man.

"Chief." Olivia snapped to attention crisply; Clayton had to fight a grin. Cops and soldiers weren't all that different.

"You have been popping up on my radar a few too many times in the last few months. First that debacle with the mayor's personal friend, then the UN comes looking for the Chief to find you to tell me that your lawyer friend died in the jungles of the DRC, and now a shootout in the middle of a public street. What is it with you?" the taller man said. Clayton watched Olivia's stance change slightly; less deference, a little more sarcasm and definite antipathy. She didn't like him.

"You're the rat, Sergeant Tucker, you tell me." Ah. Internal Affairs. Like MP's. No one liked them. They performed a necessary function but no one liked them. And this one was a complete hardass, the way he was glaring at Olivia.

"Did you fire back?"

Clayton got the impression that Olivia was just barely suppressing a very Courtney-like eye roll. "I was being shot at. Yes, I fired back in self defense."

"That gun is not standard police issue."

Olivia looked down at the 40 caliber in her hand. "No, it's not."

"Did you purchase this firearm?"

"It was given to me, Sir. By a friend."

"Is it registered to you?"

"Yes, of course."

Tucker held out a hand. "Badge and gun, detective."

Olivia's back went rigid, but she slowly unclipped her badge from her belt, hidden under her jacket, and handed that over along with her police-issue Glock. "The other one too, detective."

"Sir. This is my personal property and not police issue." Tucker just stood there, holding out a hand. Much more reluctantly she slapped the gun into his hand.

"Consider yourself on administrative leave until the investigation into tonight's events is concluded." He looked to her right, saw Clayton standing there. "And you are…"

"Clayton Abernathy, United States Army." Clayton decided not to give them his rank. Olivia didn't need any more attention from these guys; it looked like she was already under more scrutiny than she wanted.

"You should pick your dates more carefully, soldier."

Clayton had to fight to keep his tone neutral. "I don't believe my choice of friends is your business."

"Watch that tone, soldier. I might have to speak with your superior about interviewing you in regards to this incident, so consider yourself placed on notice. Are you being deployed anytime soon?"

_I _am _the __superior __on __base_, but Clayton didn't say it aloud, settling for a simple, "No, I'm not leaving anytime soon."

"Good. Don't." Tucker strode away, and the other man looked Olivia over carefully. "Go home, get changed. Clean up. Look to hear from us in a few days." Without waiting for her answer, he followed Tucker.

Olivia blew out her breath. "Tucker's part of the rat squad. And that was my boss's boss, the Chief of Detectives. Looks like I'm stuck at home for the next few days."

"This wasn't your fault."

"'If it happens to you it's your fault'. Tucker lives by that. So by his reckoning, it was my fault." She looked down at her clothes, sighed. "Damn. I just bought these pants too."

Clayton looked down. The knees of her dress slacks were torn, ripped, and he could see she'd skinned her knees underneath. He winced. "That's gonna hurt."

"Well, I have the next few days to nurse them. And my hands." She looked down ruefully, and he gently took her wrist, turning her hand over, and he saw she'd skinned them when she'd hit the pavement behind the Hummer.

"You should get that looked at. With all the garbage on the street they'll get infected easily." He eyed the Hummer. "You know, instead of dropping you off at the precinct so you can drive home, let me drop you off. If those guys were connected to what happened to Alex, they could be waiting at your apartment for you."

She looked like she was about to demur, then sighed. "I left my car at home," she said. "Too distinctive and easy to spot in traffic. I've been hoofing it to work this week."

"Then you should definitely let me take you home. In fact, I'm going to insist; you shouldn't walk home right after getting shot at. When the adrenaline wears off and you get the shakes it's not going to be pretty."

She smiled at him. "Okay. You're on."

He followed her directions through the city until they reached her apartment; then, at his insistence, he drove into the garage to make sure her car was okay and hadn't been tampered with. When he finally saw it, he whistled. "Wow."

"Yeah, well, I liked it." She sounded slightly defensive.

"Hey, I'm not saying anything. I think my Dad had one of those Mustangs when I was born; I remember working on the car with him on summers out of school." He couldn't stop admiring the sleek royal-blue '65 Mustang parked carefully in a corner of the garage; in fact, he pulled the Hummer into a space a few spots down, parked and helped Olivia get out, then wandered back while she was getting her purse and closing her door to get another look.

"She's my baby." Olivia patted the hood caressingly.

It didn't surprise him that Olivia referred to her car as a 'she'. "Does she have a name?"

It also didn't surprise him when Olivia told her the car's name was Alex. However, he couldn't resist a joke…"Does Alex have a matching one named Olivia?"

Olivia cracked up laughing. "Oh, my. I have to tell her that one. She'd probably go out and get one to match mine just because she likes the idea." She reached down to pat the car's hood again, but Clayton caught her wrist; her hands had left a bloody smear on the paint. "Your hands are bleeding. Let's get that taken care of."

She handed him her keys when they got up to her apartment so he could unlock the door. "Stay here." He opened it warily, tensed in case someone was inside, and kept the 40 caliber that he'd taken from the wheel well in front of him. _Shoot __first, __ask __questions __later,_ he thought as he went through her apartment, turning on lights and checking to see if anything looked disturbed or out of place. Nothing did, and he finally returned to where she was standing by the door, waiting for him to clear her apartment before she walked in. So she could take orders, and had enough sense to realize when she was incapacitated and unable to defend herself, and was also willing to let someone else take the lead. He nodded to her, and she walked in as he closed and locked the door.

He stepped close to her as she was taking her jacket off and whispered in her ear, "Have you swept for bugs?"

_No,_ she shook her head. Then she pulled a pad of paper out of her pocket and scribbled on it. _Haven__'__t __had __a __chance __to __get __one __of __the __tech __guys __here __to __sweep. __Might __look __suspicious. __Don __and __El __put __a __ban __on __saying __Alex__'__s __name __in __my __apartment __and __I__'__ve __followed __that. __We __used __each __other__'__s __codenames __where __necessary._

He took the paper, scribbled. _Go __wash __your __hands. __I__'__ll __sweep __for __bugs_. He'd thought about this on the way over, and had taken one of the Joes' standard-issue detectors from a compartment in the side of the driver's door as he got out. She nodded and headed for the bathroom while he carefully checked every inch of her apartment.

Living room was clean; the tasteful, subdued décor and couch yielded no bugs. The kitchen was neat and ordered; _maybe __too __neat,_ he thought bemusedly as he saw the thin layer of dust on the pots and pans in her cabinets. _She __must __not __be __home __much._ A quick peek in the refrigerator proved it was well-stocked with frozen dinners and not much fresh food. _Workaholic. __And __no __one __comes __over __to __cook __for __her, __and __it__'__s __no __fun __cooking __just __for __yourself._

He peeked into the second spare bedroom, then hesitated at her bedroom door; he didn't want to intrude here, but he still felt he had to check; when he'd done his walkthrough he'd simply opened the door, made sure no one was hiding in the walk-in closet, then left. A soft curse from the bathroom caught his attention, and he stepped into the doorway. "What?"

"Got a splinter of glass in my right hand. It's damned hard to get it out with my left." He solved that problem for her by taking the tweezers from her and checking her right hand carefully. Sure enough, he saw a thin sliver lodged under the skin of the heel of her thumb, going in; it was longer than it looked, and he heard her inhale sharply as he grabbed it with the tweezers and tried to pull it out. Her left hand curled into a fist, but she held her right hand steady until he'd pulled it out, then held it under running water. "Damn it, that _stings_," she hissed.

"Here, put some antibiotics on it, it'll heal faster." She took the tube he offered her. "But bandage it, because that glass went pretty deep and you're bleeding." She tried, clumsily; he took the gauze pads and white medical tape from her and expertly dressed the cut; she gave up and just let him tend to her hands, leaning one hip against her bathroom counter and watching him. "You're pretty good with this," she said as he smoothed a last piece of tape around her thumb.

He shrugged. "I'm a General. My work's pretty much behind a desk. The most I ever get is a skinned elbow or knee when I decide to go and work out with the troops, and I hate taking up Doc's time with something petty like that when he has soldiers with sprains and strains and stuff like that. So I usually take care of myself."

"So you do work out."

"Absolutely," he said. "I won't ask my soldiers to do anything I wouldn't be able to do myself, so I make time once a month to go over the obstacle and endurance courses with them."

"I should take you running with me one time," she said. "Alex and I used to go running in the morning, in Central Park. I haven't gone as much as I should lately; it's not as much fun when she's not there."

"Well, I can't tell," he said, looking her up and down. "You still look pretty…fit…to me." He'd been about to say 'good' but that could be taken in a different way, and he didn't want to find himself wading in verbal quicksand. From the slight smile on her face she'd picked up on that, but she forebore to comment as she slipped past him into the bedroom. "Let me get out of these pants and slip into some shorts, then I can take care of my knees." The bedroom door closed behind her.

Several moments later she opened the door again, this time dressed in a comfortable-looking soft gray t-shirt and a pair of running shorts. She sat on the edge of the bathtub and started dabbing at her skinned knees with an alcohol pad, gritting her teeth.

He took it from her wordlessly and sat on top of the toilet seat, taking one ankle and laying it across his lap so he could work more comfortably. She had long, muscular legs, and as he cleaned and bandaged her knees a small part of his mind wondered what those legs would feel like wrapped around him…he tried to dismiss the image, but it kept coming back.

She giggled suddenly, and he looked up. She was looking down at him, and he followed her line of sight to his lap. And blushed. "Sorry," he looked up and started to say.

He never got past the first syllable.


	9. Chapter 51: Gun

**Chapter 51: Gun**

"Must have been an interesting night."

Clayton had to fight to keep the smile off his face. He was a General, for pity's sake, walking around looking like a schoolboy who'd just had his first kiss wasn't going to help his image as a leader any. "Why would you say that?" he asked Flint, standing across his desk from him.

"You keep smiling. When you smile it scares half the recruits on base." Flint's own grin belied his words.

"You're looking pretty good today. How are _you_ doing?" Hawk asked. Just to change the subject.

"Pretty good. Allie and I made up." The smile disappeared. "Look, I know I haven't spoken to you about the mission yet…"

Hawk braced himself. He'd been hoping for this and half-dreading it at the same time. "Close the door," he said. "And make yourself comfortable. I don't think this is going to be easy on either of us."

"No, it's not," Dash said, seating himself. "I made a lot of mistakes on this mission and I understand that there will be disciplinary action —"

"When the mission's over and Alex can go home," Hawk interrupted. "Not until then. And what I have to say to all of you may change in that time."

"Not about this," Dash said grimly. "Christ, I broke so many rules. When we landed I felt we had to get Alex Cabot to trust us, so I told her our names and ranks. I didn't tell her who we really were, but she's pretty sharp for a civilian and I'm sure she figured out we were American military. When we met the doctor, Kris Lavigne, in Sake and I knew for sure he'd been compromised, we should have turned around and left right there. I thought about it, you know; thought about getting out, dropping Alex Cabot off at the ICC and coming home, getting you to exert your influence and have her travel papers revoked so she would have to come home. And I didn't listen to that instinct. Everything in me was screaming at me to get out, to take everyone and get out, and if I had…"

"From what Allie, Daniel, Brian and Ettienne said, it was something of a unanimous decision."

"It was, but I can't say I didn't have my reservations. But Alex is very passionate about her work and what she does, and she said if we pulled out she'd hire a bodyguard on her own nickel and go back out. And I found myself wondering what sort of bodyguard she would have been able to hire, to go out in the African jungle with her, and I couldn't see it. And so I stuck with the mission. We essentially stopped looking at her as a civilian who had to be protected and started treating her as if she were one of us." He smiled. "Not that she isn't, now, with those fatigues that have her name on them. And the rank of Private."

"Yeah, well, she earned them." Hawk tried to keep the slight defensiveness out of his voice. "She's a trooper, going through what she did. I kept looking at her in that damn bed while she was in that coma and thinking how much pain she must have endured, how she must have begged them to stop when it got too much. She never asked for any of that to happen."

"Um." Dash looked pained. "She told me…back at the camp…she was afraid _for_ me, she wanted to protect me, and make sure I made it out. So she deliberately taunted them, made them angry with her, fought them, so they would concentrate on her and leave me alone. It worked, but I can't say I'm particularly glad; she suffered so much more physical damage than I did because she was trying to protect me. I told her she would probably have suffered less if they'd split their attention between us instead of focusing on her, but she said that she never expected to make it, she knew she was going to die, and she didn't particularly care how much damage she took physically. I'm…I'm almost glad they took her into that hut, I'm sure my nightmares would be worse if I'd had to see that. As it is, I keep…I keep hearing her screaming in pain, when Zimurinda pistol whipped her after she taunted him the first time…and it was with her own gun, for God's sake."

Clayton opened his desk drawer, where he'd been keeping a particular item. "This one?" he asked Dash.

Flint stared at it. "Oh my God…yes, that's hers, she said Don Cragen, the SVU captain, gave it to her before she left for WitSec the first time. How did it get here?"

"Duke found it in the hut…along with these." A plastic ziplock bag with torn women's clothing in it joined the gun on his desktop. "He brought it all back because he didn't want to leave them there, but I haven't decided what to do with it yet. Knowing what was done to her with it, I don't think she'd want it back. I know if it were mine I wouldn't. I had to clean it twice just to get all the blood off —I didn't know that blood was hers."

"And Kris—the doctor's. They shot him with her gun too."

Clayton eyed it. "Maybe I'll just give it to Liv to give back to Cragen. With a warning never to let Alex see it again."

"Liv? We're on a first name basis with her now?" Flint's grin was decidedly cheerful.

"You'll keep that to yourself, soldier!" Hawk said.

"Aye-aye, Sir!" Dash gave Hawk an exaggerated mock salute. "So…I assume that was where you were last night?"

"Yes," Clayton finally allowed the smile to spread over his face. "I took her out to dinner, and there was an incident…" he went on to give Dash the details of the evening before.

Flint was shaking his head when Hawk finished. "Damn. That was one sick puppy. I admire your restraint. If anyone said something like that about Allie I'd've killed them."

"I told her she should have arrested this Nick guy."

Flint grinned. "But then you wouldn't have had an opportunity to—"

"I know, I know," Hawk cut him off. "All right, if that's it—"

"Yeah. I'm done." Flint stood. "Try not to scare any more recruits, huh?" He ducked the pencil Hawk threw at him and strode out the door chuckling.

Hawk sobered as he looked at the gun sitting on his desk. He'd been debating what to do with it the last couple of weeks. When Duke had first brought it to him, Alex had been in a coma and unresponsive and he hadn't even given it a thought. Now, though, its final disposition was going to have to be dealt with.

He could call Alex to his office; she was recovered enough to walk to the mess hall now instead of being wheeled around in the wheelchair or having her meals brought to her. Allie had started taking short walks with her along the halls to try and build Alex's muscle; she'd lost so much during this entire fiasco.

But he caught himself as he was about to reach for the phone. If she had an emotional reaction, he'd feel bad watching her try to walk back down the halls to her room crying. That would almost certainly scare the recruits; and worse, Shana would get mad at him. Not to mention Liv. If he talked to her in her room, he could give her privacy to react in any way she needed to in order to exorcise this particular demon.

He took the gun and the bag and headed for the women's quarters.

Alex leaned into the hot shower. God, it felt so good. She was pushing herself harder than she had to, forcing herself to keep walking, to jog a little. She knew she was pushing it, knew there were times when she'd over extended herself , but she was desperate to get back on her feet, desperate to regain some of her independence, desperate to just…be _normal_ again!

_I __don__'__t __want __to __take __a __walk __to __the __gym __and __be __shaking __with __exhaustion __when __I __get __there. __I __don__'__t __want __to __have __to __stop __and __rest __twice __just __going __to __the __mess __hall. __Ettienne __doesn__'__t __say __anything __but __I__'__m __positive __that __being __saddled __with __an __invalid __isn__'__t __easy __for __him._

_Oh, __Ettienne__…_

He'd been extraordinarily patient with her. He took her walks with her, would pick her up and carry her back to her room if she overextended herself and was simply too weak to walk anymore. She wasn't a fan of long skirts and had wondered what Olivia was thinking when she'd packed them, but they _were_ easy to change bandages under and the light material was easier to move in than her beloved cotton yoga pants. And Ettienne plainly liked her in them. His face lit up whenever he saw her.

He'd been unfailingly patient and generous and considerate; whenever she felt like she couldn't go on, he was there. When she wanted to cry, he was there, even if he probably couldn't see an apparent reason. And she'd grown to care about him deeply; she tried to control her own reactions around him to avoid hurting his feelings. She knew he knew, but his only comment to her had been one quiet remark late one evening. "Don't feel like you have to hold anything back with me."

Yesterday she'd been walking on the treadmill in the gym, and he'd been on the one beside her, and she'd watched him. Smooth, easy, fluid strides, not like the short, choppy steps he had to take when walking with her. She'd watched the play of muscle under the surface of his skin, watched as he worked up to a jog, then a couple minutes of a fast run before easing back into a cool-down walk. She'd watched his legs swallow up distance on the treadmill, and when he'd finished he'd gotten off and toweled off the sweat, and her treacherous mind had wandered off, wondering how all that hard muscle would feel between her thighs…

She'd been horrified at herself, had broken into a fast walk just to cover her blush. Yes, she knew he liked her, she knew she liked him, but the thought of him holding her as she screamed in pain on the way back from Africa, him holding her so that Lifeline could change the blood-soaked bandages between her legs—she knew that whatever she looked like down there had to have horrified him and turned him off, and she didn't see how he'd ever even want to see her naked again.

I _don__'__t __even __want __to __see __me __naked._

When she'd first gotten out of bed she'd been shocked at what she looked like in the bathroom cabinet mirror. The scar at the corner of her eye was almost faded, and her face didn't look much different except for being thinner, but the parts of her chest—what was visible in the limited view provided by the mirror—showed a network of scars that made her sick. And when she looked down, the network of healing red lines across her breasts, her stomach, and her thighs made her want to cry. Doc had taken the last of the stitches out from between her legs a week and a half ago, and told her that she'd healed, but the memory of the pain made her cringe even though she'd finally stopped spotting into the soft cotton pads she'd been using.

_I __don__'__t__…__I __can__'__t __even __imagine __what __I __must __look __like __down __there __now._

She closed her eyes so she could concentrate, leaned against the wall of the shower, and slipped a hand downward. She felt the hard ridges of scars under her questing fingertips, felt the numb places where there had been nerve damage to the surface of her skin. There were no ragged edges of flesh, thankfully; Doc had explained to her as gently as he could that due to the infection he'd had to remove some of the soft tissue in order to keep the infection from spreading. And to her surprise, she could still feel some of the thin, delicate flaps of skin that had brought her so much pleasure before this had happened…

Her fingers explored as her eyes closed, concentrating on developing a mental picture of what she looked like. Although she had thought the scar tissue would be so thick around the core of her sex that she wouldn't feel anything anymore, she found to her complete surprise that she could still feel a tingle when she touched the nerve-rich nub…and she wondered how it would feel if Ettienne were to touch her _there_…the jolt of pure pleasure that coursed through her almost made her cry out, it was so sudden and unexpected.

The water went cold just then, and she almost yelped at the suddenness of it. _There __goes __that._ She shut the water off, opened the shower door, grabbed the towel and dried off, then started getting dressed. The loose peasant blouse Liv had packed for her lay lightly over her still-tender chest and breasts, and it did compliment the long skirt well. She studied the effect in the mirror, trying to see if the rest of her looked attractive enough for a man—one in particular—for him to accept what she looked like without the pretty wrapping.

There was a tentative knock on her door, and she looked up, dismissing her thoughts. "Yes?"

General Hawk opened the door. "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure. What's wrong?" because he looked serious.

He took a couple of steps into her room, then stopped. "I didn't know how to bring this up before, but…when Duke went through the militia camp with the UN soldiers, he found…some of your things…in the hut that they…he swallowed hard, "that they raped you in."

The first thing she saw was her torn clothes. And then she saw the gun. Her gun. The one that Don had given her, the one that Zimurinda had used to kill Kris with. The one that… "Oh Jesus." She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but she knew tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she cursed herself for being such a crybaby as she reached out, wanting it back but not quite able to touch it yet.

"I didn't know what you wanted done with it." Hawk kept his hand steady, holding it out; she'd reached for it like she wanted it, but couldn't quite bring herself to touch it, and there was so much anguish in her eyes…

"I don't…I don't know…oh God…they raped me with it, after they tore me, they forced it into me over _and __over_ _**and **__**over**_…" and Hawk suddenly wanted to throw it away, to drop it and scrub his hands clean, because he remembered Doc saying 'I'm still trying to figure out what the object was that tore holes in her.' He was holding it. _They __raped __her __with __her __own __gun, __the __sick __sons __of __bitches!_

"Get dat away from her." Ettienne's voice startled both of them, and they turned, to see Ettienne standing there staring at the gun with an expression of loathing and disgust, and expression Hawk knew must be mirrored on his own face. His Cajun accent was thick with anger. "She don't want dat anymore."

"No…wait…please…'' Alex managed to choke out. "Don gave it to me…I should give it back."

"Do you want me to give it to Liv to give it back to him?" She didn't even wonder at his use of Olivia's nickname.

"No. No. I'll give it back."

"_Non_," Ettienne put his hand on top of it to keep her from touching it. "You not goin' to touch dat again." He reached into her closet, brought out a bright yellow scarf that had been included in the suitcase, and wrapped it around the gun, then grabbed the cardboard box that Shana had sent the first load of Alex's things back in and stuffed it in the bottom. "T'row de clot'es away. She not goin' to wear dem again." Hawk looked at her for permission, and she nodded slightly. He vanished.

"Ettienne, please let me make the decision of what to do with my things," she said, wishing her voice didn't sound so shaky.

"Wasn't no reason for you to have to decide what to do wit' dat," he said harshly, pacing. "General Hawk shouldn't have even shown it to you."

"But it was mine and it was given into my keeping by a very close friend," she said stubbornly, wondering why she was arguing with him about it. "As a soldier, you know that your weapons are very personal things. You don't even let someone borrow them. Don gave me that gun to help protect myself with. I carried it with me twenty-four seven for the entire two years I was in witness protection. It was the only thing I had—that I was allowed to have—from my life. I can't throw something that significant away. I just…couldn't make myself touch it."

"Then just let General Hawk give it to Olivia!" he was really angry; she'd never seen him angry, and she wondered why.

"Ettienne, why are you so angry?"

"Not'ing. It's not'ing."

"Don't tell me nothing, Ettienne. Your accent only get that thick when you're angry; most of the time I barely even notice it."

"You de only one dat's worried about what everyone else t'inks. Dey not t'inking of you! Elliot and Don are worried about Olivia, Olivia's saying she's staying away from you because she doesn't want to lead de people following her here to you, but in de meantime she's written you off and she's jumping into bed wit' General Hawk!"

"What?"

As if he'd suddenly realized what he'd said, he clamped his lips shut, eyes wide. She stood in front of him, blue eyes snapping sparks as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Olivia's going out with Clayton. Not General Hawk, Clayton." She'd learned the distinction by now.

"Yeah." He gave up. "Alex, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to tell you like that…" But she'd turned on her heel, away from him and out the door.

He was, as she had thought, sitting in his office. She didn't even bother to knock before she walked in. "You're going out with Liv."

He stared at her, obviously speechless.

She leaned across his desk. "Let me tell you something. Liv has been hurt by a lot of men, starting with her own father down through a steady succession of boyfriends. And most of those issues have to do with her job. I don't know what you think about her job, about the kinds of cases she solves for a living. I don't care. But if you hurt her I will make you regret you even know her name."

He said the only thing he could think of. "Aye-aye, Private Cabot."

"Good." Alex spun away from him and almost ran smack into Ettienne, standing open-mouthed and slack-jawed at the door to Hawk's office, having followed her there. "Let's go to lunch." When Ettienne hesitated, she snapped, "_**Now.**_"

He went, after one more disbelieving look at Hawk.

It was some minutes before Clayton could pick his jaw up off the floor.


	10. Chapter 52: Kidnapped

**Chapter 52: Kidnapped**

He was still having trouble with it.

The Alexandra Cabot who'd marched—yes, _marched_—into his office that afternoon wasn't the same Alex Cabot who'd been recovering in his infirmary for the last two months. He was absolutely certain of that. He'd never seen that blond woman with the icy blue eyes before.

And she'd been beautiful.

Not just because he'd seen, finally, the woman that his team must have seen when they stepped off the plane in Goma Airport. Not just because she'd been upright and moving well, instead of the short, halting steps he'd gotten used to seeing. No, it was because he'd finally seen that spark of temper, that stubbornness and iron will that had gotten her through this entire ordeal. Since she'd woken up she'd been meek, quiet, simply going through the motions and doing what everyone had told her to do. In his office, she'd practically ordered Ettienne to take her to lunch.

He could have cheered if he hadn't been so stunned.

As soon as he could get his mind and body coordinated again he'd hopped into the Hummer. Because with Alex now well on the road to recovery and doing much better than 'fine', his immediate worry was now Olivia. The Chief of Detectives had taken her service weapon, and the 40 cal that 'a friend' had given her—Clayton was virtually certain that the 'friend' who'd given her the gun was the same one who'd provided Alex Cabot with hers, and he blessed Don Cragen for having the foresight to arm his people. The problem was getting those weapons to stay with the people who needed them.

He'd looked at the Joes' armory and thought long and hard about what he was going to give her. She was familiar with guns and a good shot—hell, a great shot, he wouldn't have been able to make that first shot she'd taken!—but that 40 caliber was probably the upper limit of what she could handle without special training. He didn't know if she was familiar with any other exotic weapons, like Scarlett with her crossbow, knives and shuriken, or javelins like Lady Jaye, but he didn't remember having seen any in her apartment so he would assume her familiarity was with conventional weapons only. And if she didn't have anything else, that meant right now she was defenseless, a sitting duck, in that little shoebox of an apartment.

And that worried him.

In the end he'd chosen another Glock, enough like her service piece that it should pass a casual glance, then grabbed enough bullets to take down an elephant and packed it all into a gun case, tucked it under the front seat of the Hummer, and headed for her apartment. Just the thought of her, and what they'd shared the previous evening, brought a flush to his face and a tingling to his groin, and he knew he would probably come across as being overeager but it had been damned _long_ since he'd last enjoyed female companionship.

And he had to admit she was pretty damned good. And apparently she thought he was pretty good, too.

Her car was still parked in the corner of the garage; he couldn't suppress the urge and he strolled over to have another look. She'd apparently come out sometime during the day; the bloody smear from her skinned hand was gone, leaving nothing but glossy royal blue and sleek chrome behind. And this time he saw the license plate; a vanity plate that read 'Alex'. He had to laugh.

"She's a beaut, ain't she?" The garage attendant had wandered over. "I keep this spot open for Miz Benson. Ain't that many classy ladies like her got an appreciation for the fine old cars. This spot's in direct view of two the garage cameras so you can see the front and the back." He grinned as he picked up a cloth lying discarded on the garage floor by the rear bumper. "Before I went on my break I seen her down here polishing the back there. Guess she's done."

Clayton's nerves suddenly tingled. Yes, it was entirely possible that Olivia could have simply dropped the cloth when she left, but he doubted it. He'd seen her stop and pick up a crumpled napkin from the sidewalk and toss it in the nearest trashcan; she wouldn't be that sloppy with her own car.

He went back to the Hummer, slipped the gun case under the front seat, then reached into the side door panel and pulled out his favorite Desert Eagle. Mean and heavy and just what he wanted, with seven rounds in the clip and one in the chamber, and this one had been specially modified to fire 50 caliber rounds. The garage attendant's eyes bulged when Clayton came out carrying the gun. "Uh…"

"She wouldn't be that careless. Something's wrong." Clayton said by way of explanation.

"I'll call the cops," the attendant said, and hurried toward his booth. Clayton paused, wondering if he should tell the guy to wait, that it was only a suspicion, but the hairs on the back of his neck were tingling and he discarded caution. So what if it was a false alarm.

If it wasn't it might save Olivia's life.

The hallway outside her apartment was quiet, but his feeling that something was wrong became a certainty when he saw the dressing he'd applied to her right hand the evening before had been torn off her hand and hung snagged on a splinter of wood in the doorway. The wood was splintered, as if someone had kicked their way in; the door itself was dented.

He rushed the door, shoulder first; there was a bookshelf behind the door and the shelf would stop the door from opening completely. Even as the door flew inward on its hinges from his assault, he saw Olivia lying on the floor, bound hand and foot, gagged, face tear-streaked, and two men standing over her.

He didn't stop to ask questions. He fired.

They went down, and he searched the rest of her apartment, gun-first, before coming back to her. As he knelt beside her he saw the bruises already starting to form on her cheek, the marks on her upper arms just under her t-shirt sleeves where she'd been grabbed too tightly. "It's okay, I'm here. Hold on." He always carried a small knife with him; this made short work of the rope they'd bound her hands with, and as she yanked the gag out of her mouth he started to saw through the ropes that bound her ankles.

And then he felt something cold and hard pressed against the back of his head, and in front of him Olivia froze, eyes wide. A cold, calculating voice said, "Turn around. Slowly. Drop the knife and the gun."

He obeyed the instructions, and came face to face with powerfully-built, dark-skinned man, obviously of South American descent. And he knew who the man was before he even opened his mouth. "Cesar Velez."

"Correct." The man smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. "And you are…"

"Olivia's boyfriend."

"Hmm. I think you're something a little more than that. You didn't show up until after Alex Cabot escaped me. Until after the General I subverted had disappeared. At the restaurant the other night, when I first attempted to capture Miss Benson, you were there and your movements are that of a trained soldier. So. Do you want to try the truth?"

"Go to hell," Hawk's tone was frosty.

Velez took two steps, lashed out with a foot. Olivia cried out as she fell backward, still hampered by the ropes around her ankles, and Clayton lunged forward with a curse. "You son of a _bitch_—!"

"Get the ropes off her ankles. We're going somewhere we can be…a bit more private." And since he still had his gun, Clayton decided that following those directives would be the best idea for now.

"You okay?" he said, crouching next to Olivia and cutting through the rest of the ropes around her ankles.

"Yeah…" Velez had kicked her in the face; she was holding her lower jaw as if it hurt, and he took a quick moment to run a finger down her lower jawline. Not broken, then, but she was going to have a magnificent bruise there by tomorrow.

If they lived that long.

"Just follow along for now. I'll do my best to keep him from hurting you again," but even as he said it he knew that was a promise he wasn't likely going to be able to keep. Velez wanted information, and information was the one thing Clayton had, but there was a delicate line here; how was he to keep Alex a secret while protecting Olivia? _If __you__'__re __captured __with __another __soldier, __particularly __one __of __the __other __gender, __they __will __use __that __against __you._ Velez had already demonstrated his willingness to hurt Olivia if Clayton didn't give him straight answers. And Clayton had no illusions of how low Velez would stoop.

And he didn't know if he would be able to keep Alex's location a secret if Velez tortured Olivia as Alex had been tortured.

"Don't worry about me," Olivia whispered as he helped her to her feet. She slid her feet into a pair of running shoes. "Protect Alex. No matter what."

"Enough talk!" Velez grabbed Olivia's arm, jammed the gun into her side. "Walk, now, or I'll shoot her!"

There was a group of Velez's hired muscle just outside Olivia's apartment door; they formed a tight phalanx around Clayton and Olivia as the whole group moved toward the stairs that would take them down to the street. Clayton watched them all alertly, looking for a means to escape; but these were all professional muscle, and Velez had a bruisingly tight grip on Olivia's arm, and they reached the street without Clayton having a single opportunity to try and fight their way out.

The black SUV that he'd seen in the street outside Knickerbocker's was waiting by the curb; he knew it was the same one because he could see the patches of not-quite-matching paint along the sides of the vehicle where his and Olivia's bullets had been pried out of it. Velez shoved Olivia into the back of the first vehicle, and Clayton climbed in after her; Velez got in next, and two of his goons got in the back, uncocking guns and pressing the barrels against Olivia's and Clayton's heads. The rest of Velez's muscle got into the second vehicle.

"Drive!" Velez snapped, and the SUV started with a jerk; as they pulled out of the loading zone in front of the apartment building, Clayton heard sirens scream around the corner. Too late, he thought bitterly as the two SUV's sped away. Just one minute earlier…

And then something slammed into the side of his head, and he saw stars for a moment before everything blacked out.

"What's the situation?" Elliot snapped grimly as he strode up to the uniform waiting by the front door to Olivia's apartment building.

"Door's been kicked in, the doorframe's splintered. There are cut ropes and what looks like a gag on the floor in the living room. There was some sort of wound dressing caught on a splinter on the doorframe; ME's gong to analyze that."

"Who called?"

"I did," the garage attendant looked pale and shocked. "The guy, the one that brought Miss Benson home last night in the big Hummer? He came by today. I saw him admiring Miss Benson's car, and when he saw one of her polishing cloths on the floor he told me to call. He got this huge gun from the Hummer and ran in."

"What guy? Elliot, is that the hawk-eyed guy Olivia went to lunch with a few days ago?" Don asked Elliot_.__Is __that __the __General __Hawk __that __came __to __the __office __earlier __this __week __to __tell __us __Alex __was __alive?_ His expression said.

"Yeah," Elliot said. "And she was all gung ho about that date too." _Yes, __it __was. __I__'__m __going __to __contact __Ettienne __about __this __as __soon __as __I __have __a __minute._

"Did you see them leave?" Don asked the attendant.

"I didn't, no, because I couldn't see the front door. There were two big black SUV's that pulled out just as the first few cop cars were pulling up. You don't think she could have been in one of those, do you?"

"I don't know what to think right now," Elliot said grimly as he and Don left the garage attendant and hurried up to Olivia's apartment.

"She was downstairs with her car when they apparently accosted her. They brought her back up here, but apparently she didn't get the door open fast enough for them," Elliot nudged Olivia's keys, lying in a heap beside the door, with the toe of his shoe.

"They broke in, splintering the doorframe on their way in." The crime scene technician pointed with the end of his pen to the splintered wood of the door. "It looks like she put up a fight; her coffee table's smashed and there's glass everywhere, so be careful." He pointed to the broken glass-top coffee table. "The two bodies over there were shot once each by a Desert Eagle modified to accept and fire fifty caliber rounds. Looking at the angle and trajectory of the blood spatter, it was the male who came in presumably to help Detective Benson. She was apparently lying here, on the carpet by her couch; her would-be rescuer apparently stepped in some motor oil out in the garage; the tracks of his boots lead through the apartment until they end back here. He then proceeded to pull a knife he must have had on his person and cut the ropes binding her, also removing her gag." He pointed to a length of twisted cloth on the floor being carefully photographed by two crime scene investigators. "At that point someone must have come in and interrupted the process, and whoever it was must have threatened Miss Benson in some way, because the gun and knife were placed side by side on the floor, the gun without firing another shot. The Desert Eagle is manufactured to fire 45 caliber rounds; when modified to accommodate 50 caliber rounds the maximum number of rounds the clip will hold is seven plus one in the chamber. The gun had six rounds left in it, so no other shots were fired."

"The kidnappers have Olivia and her friend." Elliot turned away from the crime scene, heading for the door, closely followed by Cragen. "I gotta let Gung Ho know what happened. They have to know that General Hawk has been captured, and Olivia could be used against him to get him to talk about where Alex is."


	11. Chapter 53: Situation

**Chapter 53: Situation**

"We have a problem."

With General Hawk off base, Flint was the next in line and the one in charge in his absence. He'd called an emergency briefing of all base personnel, though he'd had an argument with Lady Jaye about whether to include Alex in the briefing.

"She has a right to know," Lady Jaye had insisted, and she'd won; Flint reluctantly requested that Ettienne bring Alex. She stood in the front row next to Gung Ho, now, dressed in the fatigues with her name on them and practically indistinguishable from the rest of the Joes; she'd adjusted her stance and her walk to match theirs.

"General Hawk was off base visiting…" he hesitated, remembering Alex's reaction when Ettienne had accidentally let slip the fact that Clayton was dating Olivia Benson, but this was a crucial piece of information. "…visiting Detective Olivia Benson." He ignored the whispers and murmurs that rippled through the room. "He apparently walked in on the middle of a kidnapping attempt—" his eyes flicked to the suddenly pale, wide-eyed Alex Cabot in sympathy, but didn't change his tone, "and was apparently either overpowered, or as is more likely, Detective Benson was threatened in some way. He gave up his armament without a fight and left with the kidnappers and Olivia Benson. At this moment we do not know where they are, though I'm pretty sure we all know who has them both."

"Cesar Velez," came two voices from the front row, both female; one was Scarlett's and the other was Alex's. "Cesar Velez has them both. And he'll use them to try and get to me."

"We don't know that," Flint said, but even he didn't really believe that; there was no one else. "I immediately informed Lieutenant General Johnson and he is currently on his way here from Washington; he should be here within a few hours. This base is now locked down and all off-base personnel are being recalled even as we speak."

"General Hawk wouldn't—" Beach Head started to speak from behind Brawler.

Lady Jaye interrupted him. "By himself, he wouldn't—General Hawk went through those courses the same as the rest of us. But if another person's life were threatened—Olivia Benson's—you know what the manuals say; that other person can be used against you. And no one, not even General Hawk, is proof against the worst tortures man can come up with." And, softer, "What if they do worse than threaten Olivia Benson's life?" The realization dawned on everyone's face.

"Oh God," Alex choked as it hit her too. "Liv… not her, oh God, I'm going out there and surrender myself…"

"_Private __Cabot_." Flint's tone was…well, hard as flint. "This base is on lockdown. That means no personnel will leave once they are here."

"I'm not one of your soldiers. You can't…" she started, but Flint shook his head.

"When General Hawk pushed the paperwork through to make you one of us, that also placed you under his command. In his absence _I _am in charge, which makes me _your_ commander and authorizes me to give you orders. And I am saying _**you **__**will **__**not **__**leave**_. That is a _direct __order_, and if I find you in violation of it and attempting to leave the base I _will_ place you in the brig. Is that understood, _Private_?"

Lady Jaye saw the gears working in Alex's head, saw when the other woman finally accepted the truth and the logic in what Flint had said. "Aye-aye, Warrant Officer." She stepped back into line beside Ettienne.

Flint nodded, and his tone softened. "I am not unsympathetic to your feelings, but in the big picture your life is not expendable. The ICC needs your testimony to convict an international criminal guilty of drug smuggling, human trafficking, arms dealing, and a host of other crimes—I looked up the list of charges. Lieutenant General Johnson, with whom General Hawk and I have been in almost daily contact with, is concluding his investigation into General Clancy's activities, and it was decided yesterday that as soon as the final decision by the Secretary of Defense is made, arrangements to escort you to The Hague in order for you to give your testimony will be made—and Scarlett as well," he nodded to the redhead. "Olivia Benson's partner Elliot Stabler called Gung Ho this morning and informed him of Miss Benson's and General Hawk's disappearance; I have been told to wait on any further action by Lieutenant General Johnson; once he arrives he will be taking charge. Until then we are in full alert and lockdown. Are we clear?"

"Aye-aye, Sir!" came the chorus of acknowledgements from the assembled soldiers, accompanied by salutes—even, Lady Jaye noted with some wry amusement, Alex. Across the room, she locked gazes with Cover Girl, with Scarlett, with Gung Ho…and when each of them nodded slightly, she knew they'd keep an eye on Alex and make sure she didn't violate orders. "Company dismissed."

As Lady Jaye stepped out of the room a voice behind her caught her attention. "Lady Jaye. Ma'am." Apparently Alex was taking this seriously because she stopped in front of Lady Jaye and saluted. Since she was a private, Lady Jaye did rank her, so it was appropriate.

"Yes, Private?" Lady Jaye didn't allow her amusement to show.

"Back in the briefing, Ma'am, you referred to manuals…would it be possible for me to know what those manuals say, Ma'am?"

Allie's amusement vanished. She studied Alex's face thoughtfully, then turned to Gung Ho, standing beside her. "Ettienne, I think we'd better handle this. Thank you." She glanced at Courtney and Shana and tipped her head in Alex's direction; they, immediately understanding that she wanted to see them, threaded their way through the crowd of exiting Joes until they stood by her side.

"Alex wants to look at the manual we have on the Resistance part of our training."

Shana stared at her. "You _have_ to be joking."

Alex's poker face never changed.

"Well, it's not like she hasn't gone through it," Courtney unexpectedly took Alex's side. "In fact, she could probably write half the manual in her sleep."

Allie shook her head and stared at the ceiling. "Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret this later? All right," She said to Alex. "Come to my quarters. I have mine in my footlocker, we can go over it."

Flint frowned as he heard the voices coming from Lady Jaye's room. Lieutenant General Johnson was going to be here any minute, and no one had been able to find any of The Girls. He suspected they were plotting something as he gave Lady Jaye's door a token tap before opening the door and walking in, but he wasn't prepared for what he _did_ see when he opened the door. It took a moment for him to find his voice. _**"**__**What **__**the **__**hell**__**—**__**?**__**"**_

"Just a minute, Flint. All right, Alex, we're going to let your arms down now. Slowly, Scarlett, Cover Girl, it'll take a minute for the circulation to come back. Alex, remember to breathe deeply; I know your instinct is to hold your breath to keep back the pain but if you deprive your brain of oxygen like that it sends your subconscious into a panic and that makes the pain worse." Allie closed the thick book she was holding.

"_**There **__**will **__**be **__**no**__** '**__**just **__**a **__**minute! **__**What **__**the **__**hell **__**do **__**you **__**think **__**you**__**'**__**re **__**doing?**__**"**_

What he'd seen was Alex was on her knees in front of Lady Jaye's desk with her back to it. Cover Girl had pulled her arms up behind her and was holding her wrists pinned behind her to the tabletop as Scarlett applied downward pressure to her shoulders to simulate the weight of a person's body hanging from that arms-backward position. The whole scene was out of the textbook that Lady Jaye was holding, and one that Flint recognized immediately as being from those SERE courses that they'd all taken. If there was no rope or beam handy, this was an excruciating kneeling strappado, one of the common stress positions for torture. There was sweat on Alex's forehead, and her fatigue top was damp with it; they'd apparently been running through the positions in the manual for some time now. What made it all the worse for Flint was the knowledge that Alex was already intimately aware of the pain inherent in this position; there _had_ been rope and a tree limb handy back at the militia camp and Alex had also suffered a brutal full body whipping while in that position.

And why The Girls would put Alex through that again when she'd barely survived it the last time…_that_ was what made Flint's blood boil. "Explain to me just what the hell you're doing, Master Sergeant," he addressed Scarlett icily, who was the ranking officer in the room at that moment after himself.

"Sir." Scarlett knew him well enough to know when they'd royally pissed him off, and with him currently in charge she was well aware that he could put her in the brig. In fact, he could put all of them in the brig if he didn't like their answers. "Staff Sergeant Hart-Burnett mentioned the SERE courses we took in the meeting and Private Cabot requested the knowledge. Sir." Full rank, full formality; she knew they were in trouble.

"Private Cabot _asked_…" Flint turned to Alex. "Explain yourself, Private. You barely survived this one the last time you were in it…why in God's name would you want to do it again?" his formality disappeared in his exasperation. "Jesus, Alex, just explain to me _why_?"

She looked at him, and he could see that she knew why he was asking. Out of everyone in the room, he alone knew the full details of what she'd gone through, and he was suddenly certain that Alex hadn't told The Girls about her strappado whipping. "That rogue militia leader never read any manuals, never took any courses, has little knowledge of what can be done to the human body. What he did to me involved spontaneous inspiration and brute instinct. However, Cesar Velez is completely a man of the world; he traveled extensively, his income from his illegal activities is greater than the gross national income of the DRC itself, and as a result he has to know all the things you can do to the human body." Her eyes pleaded with him for understanding as she said softly, "He has Olivia. And he'll try some of this stuff on her. If I know what he'll try I'll know how to help her recover when she gets back."

_If __she __comes __back_, Flint thought, but Alex read his mind. "Not 'if'. When. Clayton won't let them kill Olivia. From what Allie told me their relationship has…gotten physical. That's okay; I have no problems with it, Clayton's a good man, and Olivia's experience with good men has been…regrettably deficient."

"Warrant Officer Faireborn, please report to the briefing room," the intercom suddenly blared, and Flint looked at the ceiling with a sigh. "I'll discuss this with all of you later. _In __private._ You will keep your activities of the morning private, do you understand? Discuss it with no one." Nods all around. "Now get into your dress uniforms and get to the briefing room, I get the feeling that page was to let me know Johnson's arrived." He hurried out of the room.

"I thought he was going to throw all of us into the brig!" Shana blew out her breath in a sigh of relief as she yanked the covers back on Allie's bed. Mindful of the time and the Lieutenant General's imminent arrival, the girls had taken the precaution of bringing their dress uniforms and stashed them under Allie's bedcovers. Alex, as a private, didn't have one and would wear her fatigues.

Lady Jaye wasn't letting Alex off the hook. She said quietly, "Alex. When Flint said 'you barely survived this' he wasn't talking about your ordeal, he was talking specifically about that position. Why?"

When Alex didn't answer, she stepped forward. "I asked you a question, Private, and I expect an answer."

She'd never pulled rank on Alex before, and she'd never used her command tone. Alex recognized it and snapped to attention. "Ma'am. Back in the militia camp Zimurinda tied me in that position and whipped me. Ma'am."

"Jesus fucking Christ. And you didn't tell us?" Cover Girl stared at Alex like she'd grown a second head. "Why didn't you tell us, we would have skipped that!"

"We'll talk about it later. Get dressed, Corporal Krieger," Scarlett's tone also didn't bode well for that future conversation, but the three officers all got dressed without further comment and all four of them headed to the briefing room.


	12. Chapter 54: Answers

**Chapter 54: Answers**

Usually there was a certain amount of subdued noise coming from the briefing room whenever there was a visiting dignitary. Today, as the girls neared the room, it was quiet. Lady Jaye and Scarlett exchanged glances, but none of the three said anything until they got into the room. And as they fell into ranks, they understood the reason for the silence.

Shock. Complete and utter shock.

Because standing in front of the room was the Secretary of Defense, Lieutenant General Johnson, and General Clancy. And Clancy was in handcuffs.

Flint's face was carefully impassive but Lady Jaye knew he had to be feeling the same shock they were. Had Clancy been arrested?

The Secretary finally spoke. A tall, dark-skinned man, veteran of many wars, personal advisor and close friend of the president; they all responded to the invisible power he wielded.

"I will not waste time mouthing meaningless pleasantries. I came here today hoping to find General Abernathy and instead Lieutenant General Johnson informs me General Abernathy is missing. He forwarded a message from Warrant Officer Dashiell Faireborn that the person behind the kidnapping is presumably the Colombian drug lord and international criminal known as Cesar Velez. Warrant Officer, is this correct?"

"Aye, Sir." Flint's salute was crisp and correct.

"It is also my understanding that the purpose behind the kidnapping is to ultimately capture one civilian, an ICC lawyer named Alexandra Cabot, due to a personal vendetta, is this also correct?' he scanned the assembled soldiers. "Where is Ms. Cabot?"

"Private Cabot reporting as ordered. Sir." Alex pushed her way to the front of the assembled soldiers and saluted, as crisply and correctly as Flint had.

The Secretary's voice sharpened. "I thought you were a civilian."

"Mr. Secretary, Sir, due to the fact that Ms. Cabot is currently under our protection in hiding from the drug lord you mentioned, General Abernathy chose to integrate her with our forces in order to better protect her," Flint interjected quickly.

"Ah. I believe I heard something about this. Ms. Cabot—Private Cabot—I read Lieutenant General Johnson's report, and words just cannot express how sorry I am that all of this happened. I am pleased to see you're recovering well."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Now, as to this other matter. General Clancy, as I have Private Cabot standing in front of you, perhaps you'd like to tender your apologies to her in person?"

The hate-filled glare Clancy shot Alex didn't need any explanation.

"Apparently not. Then I will be compelled to apologize for you—"

"Sir. I don't need General Clancy's explanations or apologies. I would simply rather not face him again."

"That is completely understandable, Private Cabot. Major-General Johnson, please remove _Mister_ Clancy to the brig, where he will remain until the duration of my visit is completed." Murmurs rolled around the room as the significance of the Secretary's usage of 'Mister' was understood. Clancy was no longer their commanding officer.

"Wait." Scarlett stepped forward until she stood beside Alex and Flint. "If you don't mind, Mr. Secretary, I have a few questions for…_Mister_ Clancy."

"You are?" The Secretary narrowed his eyes as he studied Scarlett.

"Master Sergeant Shana O'Hara, Mr. Secretary. I spearheaded the deep cover operation at the ICC to uncover the source of the subversion, Cesar Velez."

"Go ahead."

Scarlett addressed Clancy directly, carefully keeping her voice neutral. "Mister Clancy. How did Velez subvert you?"

Clancy didn't answer her.

"_Mister __Clancy_." The Secretary folded his arms. "You are no longer an officer, and Master Sergeant O'Hara now outranks you. You will answer the Master Sergeant's question."

"I had an affair with a woman named Sandra Velasquez. She threatened to expose the details if I didn't agree to do what she wanted." His voice took on a slightly petulant, whining note. "What she wanted didn't seem like much. She just wanted me to contact an ICC lawyer and make her an offer she couldn't refuse to get a man named Cesar Velez out of her life. Sandra told me exactly what to say, gave me papers to give Ms. Cabot to make her think that it was all officially sanctioned."

"And did you pick the soldiers who went out on the first mission, the first escort team that took Private Cabot out to the DRC?" Scarlett pursued him relentlessly.

"Yes." Sullenly.

"Did you know they were going to be murdered in an ambush?"

"No." But his voice was low and he didn't meet Scarlett's eyes.

"He's lying," Alex said fiercely, suddenly. "He knew. One of the soldiers, Kenny Harvard, said that he'd gotten a call from General Clancy telling him that his father was ill and needed him to come home. He was all set to fly home when his mother called to see how he was doing, and told him that his father was fine. I remember him talking about it because he was wondering why his Dad's best friend would have made a call like that, wondered why he would have tried to get Kenny home." She swallowed hard. When she continued, her voice was steady but her eyes shone with tears. "We were ambushed just outside of Sake, on the road to Kirumba. Kenny grabbed me when the bullets started flying. I was screaming, trying to get back to all those young soldiers out there, because they were getting massacred, for me, and I thought that if I surrendered they'd let all those boys live. Kenny told me not to stupid, dragged me into the forest and we ran for the river. There were footsteps behind me, people trying to catch up, and we stopped at the edge of the river. Kenny told me to jump. I told him I couldn't jump without him, he'd just saved my life, and he told me to go, that he would follow me. So I jumped—and when I came up I was just in time to see the militia fire at him with an automatic rifle. He fell from the top of that cliff into the water, and I caught his body as it floated past me…he was dead." She choked on the last word, couldn't keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks. "He was only twenty, he wasn't even old enough for his first beer, and he was your friend's son, how could you have…" She couldn't finish.

"If he'd gone home when I told him to he wouldn't have died! I had tickets all ready for him, I paid for them myself!"

The disgust and loathing on everyone's faces was mirrored on the Secretary's. "You knew." Even the Secretary looked shaken. "General Harvard—my God, he was crushed when he found out his son died…you told him he was in Iraq, you didn't tell him you'd sent his son into an African ambush! On an unsanctioned military mission, no less!"

"It wasn't just Kenny." Alex drew in a harsh breath. "Every one of those soldiers was someone's son, someone's brother, someone's father. And they all died for me. Trying to protect me. I will have to live with that for the rest of my life, Secretary."

"It is never easy watching a fellow soldier lose his life, Private Cabot. And there is nothing that can be done about it but to try and make sure it doesn't happen again. Master Sergeant O'Hara, are there any other questions you'd like to ask him?"

"Was there anyone else at the ICC Velez subverted?" Scarlett's face was a cold, hard mask. When Clancy didn't say anything, Scarlett lost her temper, something she rarely ever did; her martial arts training had drilled control over her emotions into her. "Have the grace to look at me, Clancy, when I'm talking to you! Velez has ordered you dead, why do you still feel it necessary to protect him?"

Clancy looked up at her, startled—and was that fear in his eyes? "He's ordered me dead?"

"There is a hitman out there just waiting for you to resurface! You goddamn son of a bitch, Clancy, didn't you ever figure out that Velez isn't going to leave a loose end like you untied? The minute you're out of MP custody your life isn't worth a plug nickel!"

Clancy turned to the Secretary…and yes, that was definite fear in his eyes. "Mr. Secretary—Sir, you have to keep me in custody—I'll tell you whatever you want to know—!"

"Master Sergeant?" The Secretary ignored him.

"Clancy. Who's Velez's contact in the UN?"

The name Clancy gave them caught everyone by surprise; a very highly-placed, very visible figure in the Colombian embassy to the UN. Duke gasped now. "That's the voice I heard when the UN soldier handed me his satphone back at Nzoka! He's supposed to be an outspoken proponent of ending the cartels currently operating out of Colombia, how did Velez subvert him?"

"I don't know." Clancy sounded defeated. "That's all I know, I was in charge of handling the American end of this operation."

"It's not an operation, it's a conspiracy." Flint spoke for the first time since Scarlett had started questioning him. "Clancy, why on earth did you pick _us_ for this? Putting _our_ elite forces in charge of this mission is the only reason Velez and Sandra's plans didn't succeed and Ms. Cabot isn't dead now."

"I had plans. By getting General Hawk involved, telling him the orders were to insert a plausible deniability small force, then telling Velez to have the militia hit you with every person they had, the intent was to capture all of you. If you hadn't violated military protocol and split the team up in the village, your team would have disappeared into the jungle without a trace, MIA, never to be seen again. The militia were to have killed all of you first, immediately. Zimurinda violated that order, I assume to use you and Ms. Cabot against each other to intensify her suffering. Zimurinda's orders from Velez were to ensure Ms. Cabot endured three days of torture with no water and no sleep and to kill her on the third day. General Hawk would have taken the blame for the unsanctioned operation, he would have been demoted and court-martialed and jailed and _**this **__**command **__**would **__**have **__**been **__**mine**_."

Flint went visibly pale. "Three days." He looked at Lady Jaye. "If you hadn't found us when you did they would have killed us that day."

Lady Jaye looked shaken. "We were _all_ supposed to disappear. They were supposed to get all of us. That would have meant me too." Flint stared at her, sick. Hawk was right. If he hadn't split the team up, they would have gotten Allie. Images flashed through his mind; Allie, hanging from that tree; Allie, pistol-whipped; Allie, gang-raped and beaten. Allie lying there screaming as he was forced into her bleeding, tortured body. He shuddered. _Thank __you, __God, __Alex __was __bad __enough, __I __would __have __gone __**insane **__if __it __had __been __Allie._

"I've heard enough. Master Sergeant, Warrant Officer, are there any other questions you'd like to ask Mr. Clancy?"

"No. That's it." Flint said.

"Get him out of our sight," Scarlett's face was flushed as red as her hair and her green eyes were cold. "Go ahead and throw him out for Velez's hitman. I don't care."

Flint stepped up to Clancy, his brown eyes darkening. "If by some chance you survive this, if Velez's hitman doesn't get you and you don't end up in Leavenworth, don't cross my path. There's no forgiveness for the horrific situation you placed Ms. Cabot in to keep your personal indiscretions private and to advance your career. What you've done goes so far beyond human decency that I have no words for it. I never, ever want to see you again, and neither does anyone else on this base. Neither we nor anyone we know will ever follow your orders again." And with the way rumors spread around the armed forces, Clancy would never find any kind of respect from any soldier, ever again. Not that he deserved it.

The briefing room door opened, and a panicked-looking young Private ran in. "Sir—Sirs," he gasped, winded as he snapped to attention. "Communication coming in—it's General Hawk's private vidphone line, and it's General Hawk himself!"

"Put it on screen here, Private, I'm sure we all need to see this."


	13. Chapter 55: Contact

**Chapter 55: Contact**

Clayton stirred—and groaned as his head exploded. "Christ," he muttered.

"Easy," came a female voice from somewhere in front of him. "If you're going to pick your head up, do it slowly; they hit us on the heads to knock us out. My head feels like it's going to explode."

"Olivia?"

"Yeah, it's me," said the voice. "They tied me to a chair and blindfolded me, and I'm assuming they did the same to you, so don't panic if you can't open your eyes. You won't be able to see anything anyway; the room's pitch black." She added by way of explanation, "I managed to get the blindfold off but I still couldn't see anything. But I heard breathing and I assumed it was you."

Clayton gave an experimental yank at his bonds. There was no give, and just tugging hurt; whatever was used to tie him had been tied very tightly indeed. He could feel the beginnings of a numb tingling in the tips of his fingers. And… "Oh God…did they…"

"I don't know. Not since I woke up here, certainly—there's been nobody here but us for a little while now. But I don't feel…any different. Nothing hurts, so I assume they haven't." She paused. "Yet."

"They won't touch you!" Dread mixed with fierce resolution in the pit of his stomach. "I won't let them!"

"You may not have a choice," Olivia said firmly. "Don't make promises you can't keep. Protect her first; don't worry about me."

"Her. Is that Alex?" came a new voice, a female one, and suddenly Clayton could see light even through the heavy cloth blindfold. The next moment the blindfold was yanked from his eyes and he blinked in the sudden light.

There was a bare lightbulb dangling over him—correction, over both of them; Olivia was sitting in a chair bolted to the floor across from him, ropes tied tightly around her wrists securing them behind the high back; her ankles were tied to the two front legs of the chair, and she was still intact, no bruises or blood. He felt a moment of relief; she hadn't been hurt yet, then—but it was followed by dread because he knew Velez wouldn't have put her in a chair bolted to the floor without there being a reason for it. There also had to be a reason why neither of their chairs had seats, just the framework, and Clayton could feel the hard roundness of a wooden dowel laid over the seat for his body weight to rest on, forming a single intense line of pressure across the back of his thighs that would become intolerable if they were kept tied to these chairs for long periods of time. And off to one side was a table, with a laptop sitting on it, and a huge black duffel bag.

"When you said 'her'—is that Alex Cabot you're talking about?" the speaker was a woman, Colombian, with a barely-there accent as she stepped into that circle of light cast by the bare bulb and demanded answers from Olivia.

"You're so smart, you figure it out. Who the hell are you anyway?" Clayton had to fight a surge of elation. He'd been afraid Olivia would be terrified, but if she was she wasn't showing it. She sounded…pissed. Pissed was good. If she could hang onto that anger until he could figure out a way for them to escape…

"Sandra Milena Velasquez." The woman smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile.

_But __Scarlett __said __she __died __when __Velez __shot __her!_ Clayton just barely clamped down on that. Sandra must have arranged the 'show' with Velez for Scarlett and Snake Eyes' benefit. And as he squinted, he thought he remembered seeing her before, sitting at a nearby table when he and Olivia had that first lunch…

"Sandra, my dear, it's not nice to play with your prey," came Velez's voice, silky smooth and oily with triumph. "Of course she's talking about Alex." He stepped into the circle of light. "But you're asking the wrong person, I believe." He stopped in front of Clayton. "Clayton Abernathy, United States Army. The picture General Clancy gave me didn't do you justice."

"That's General Abernathy to you," Clayton hissed. "And your pictures don't do you justice either; they don't quite get across how evil you are."

Velez smiled. "Really. You don't know the half of it." He lashed out with a fist, and Clayton felt the impact, then a second impact as the chair he was sitting in crashed onto its side on the floor. He lay for a moment, blinking involuntary tears from his eyes, then Velez grabbed the chair and pulled it back upright. "You have a secret military base around here somewhere. Clancy didn't tell me where, but he said it was out of his reach and completely secure, unassailable. He said Ms. Cabot was recovering there. How is she doing, by the way?"

Clayton refused to answer.

His chair crashed over again, and his head rang. As Velez dragged his chair upright again, Clayton tasted blood in his mouth. Damn it. He could feel his jaw aching, and one eye was swelling shut. _At __least __it__'__s __just __me __and __not __Liv. __The __more __of __his __attention __I __can __keep __on __me, __the __less __he__'__s __going __to __do __to __hurt __her._

"Does she still wake up screaming?" Velez said lightly, crouching onto his haunches and taking a photo from his pocket. "Does she still remember this?" Clayton wanted to throw up when he saw that picture; Alex, lying face-down over the edge of an absolutely filthy medical exam table, her tear-, sweat- and blood-streaked face contorted in a forever-frozen, silent scream as someone shoved a thick wooden club into her body from behind. "Have the tears healed? Has she stopped bleeding yet from the gun Zimurinda raped her with—her own, I believe, an old police-issue weapon?"

"_You __**son **__**of **__**a **__**bitch**_!" Olivia shouted in fury behind Velez. "Don gave her that gun to protect her when she left the first time!"

"Ah." Velez rose, turned to Olivia—and, standing behind her chair, Sandra. "And you would be her lover."

Olivia glared at him with hate-filled eyes and didn't answer; Clayton thought idly that her nickname of 'Fearless' was well-earned.

"I am looking forward to raping you," Velez said casually, but Olivia's expression never changed, and Velez himself looked slightly…chagrinned? He'd obviously been expecting to get some sort of reaction from Olivia and was disappointed that he didn't. Clayton felt a tiny prick of triumph. _Score __one __for __Liv_. "However, I've decided to hold off…until I have Alex. I will take you in front of her, rape and break you before her eyes. Her guilt will help me destroy her." Now he smiled, and Clayton felt his blood turn to ice. Velez's smile looked like a crocodile just before it ate a large, tasty meal… "Sandra is quickly becoming quite an expert at interrogation. A little hobby I have encouraged because it was…entertaining. Now, I believe I'll allow her to practice until I have the answers to my questions."

Sandra's face took on a look of malicious glee as she came forward with a duffel bag of what looked to be miles of tangled wire and battered black boxes; Clayton's heart lurched in fear as he saw what looked like—_Is __that __a __dynamo __field __telephone?_—come out of the bag next. In situations where the Joes mission or battle environment didn't have adequate infrastructure to manage wireless communications, there were hand-cranked generators that could be hooked up to any item requiring electric to power it, like their satphones.

He was fairly certain this wasn't going to be used for a satphone.

His guess was proved correct when Sandra started placing sticky electrode pads on Olivia's skin, tearing the front of the t-shirt so she could place electrodes on Liv's chest . Olivia swore, twisting, trying to make it as hard as possible for Sandra, but the woman went on with her setup, ignoring the tensing and straining of Olivia's leg muscles as she placed electrode pads on Liv's thighs just under the hem of her shorts. "No! Oh God, don't, Jesus, you can't!" Clayton screamed at her, spurred by the fear in Olivia's eyes.

"Tell me what I want to know. You do have Alex Cabot?"

"Yes." Clayton slumped, defeated. Velez couldn't get to Alex anyway, and he couldn't let Velasquez electrocute Olivia.

"Give me the communication codes to your headquarters. I want to arrange a trade; you and Ms. Benson for Alex Cabot."

"No." General Hawk froze. He couldn't. That was classified information—the communication code not only went to Joe base, but also to every other highly-classified military based in America. He could not give Velez the codes. "I…I can't."

"Not even to save her?" Clayton stared in dumb anguish as Sandra clipped the wires to the electrode pads.

"I can't! I can't, please, God, don't do this…!"

Sandra turned the crank.

Olivia screamed in agony, arching up in her bonds, every muscle in her body tightening as the electric current tore through her. Sandra watched, almost laughing in delight, turning the crank for a full half minute. The current made Olivia's muscles so tight that she couldn't even draw adequate breath after her initial scream of agony; she shook, screaming soundlessly, in her bonds until Sandra stopped turning the crank, then Olivia's body flopped back down into the chair, and her gasping breaths echoed through… wherever this room they were in was.

"Communication codes."

"I can't! No, don't—_**you **__**twisted **__**little **__**bitch**_!" Clayton screamed at Sandra as the Colombian woman started turning the crank again. Olivia hadn't even gotten her breath back, all she could do was writhe until the current released her, and she was gasping raggedly in shock and pain when her body thudded back into the chair. Now Clayton knew why her chair was bolted to the floor, and his wasn't.

"Please…please…not again, please, oh God, not again," Olivia begged as Sandra smiled. "Oh God…_no_…_**please**__**…**__**!**_" Her pleas became frantic as Sandra picked up the generator again, then escalated into screaming as Sandra turned the crank, sending her bound body into convulsions as the electric tore into her muscles.

"Stop it! Stop it, Jesus, please, look, I can't give you the codes but I can set up a secure communications line with base. All right? I'll set it up, I'll say whatever you want to say, I'll pass on your ransom demand, just _please __God __**don**__**'**__**t **__**hurt **__**her **__**anymore**__!..._"

Sandra turned the crank for a full fifteen seconds more, then shut it off at Velez's look. Olivia went limp in the chair, her muscles still twitching with the aftermath, skin slick with sweat. Velez stepped behind Clayton, untied the ropes that bound him to the chair. "No tricks now."

As soon as he was free Clayton lashed out at Velez, catching the other man with a hard right hook to the jaw. Without stopping, he lunged for Sandra, ripping the black control box out of her hand, flinging it to the floor as he grabbed a handful of the wires and yanked them off the electrodes on Olivia's skin. Then Sandra came after him again, screaming, this time with a knife raised in her fist, and he caught her knife hand, wrenched the knife from her fist, twisted around her and laid the knife across her throat. "Velez!" he twisted around, with Sandra held in front of him, to face Velez, standing by Olivia's chair. He had a handful of Olivia's hair and also had a knife held to her throat.

Stalemate.

"Let Sandra go." Velez's voice was even, the tone hadn't changed, although he was going to have a dark bruise across his cheek later. "Or I'll cut Miss Benson's throat." In the chair, Olivia was trying to stay still, despite the involuntary twitching left from having been electrocuted.

"Let Olivia go. Or I'll cut Sandra's throat." Clayton countered, tensing his arm a fraction, letting the point dimple Sandra's skin. Not piercing it, not drawing blood just yet, though at the moment he dearly would have liked to; he wanted to kill the bitch.

"While losing Sandra would be…regrettable, it will not make any difference in my plans. So go ahead and kill her." Sandra sucked in a breath, but didn't say anything.

Clayton heard movement behind him, and whirled, taking Sandra with him. The circle of light cast by the bare lightbulb overhead was now ringed with men, fully dressed, armed-to-the-teeth-deadly men holding guns that varied from pistols to submachine guns. He did a quick headcount. _Twelve__—__no, __thirteen __of __them. __And __Sandra __and __Velez __himself. __**Shit**__. __Would __it __be __better __just __to __fight, __let __them __kill __us?_

And then common sense took over. _If __I __fight __they__'__ll __probably __kill __me.__But __Olivia__…__she__'__s __helpless __right __now. __They __won__'__t __kill __her, __they__'__re __going __to __use __her __as __bait __to __lure __Alex __out. __And __if __I __fight, __and __die, __she__'__ll __be __alone. __I __can__'__t __leave __her __alone __in __this __mess._

And then Olivia screamed behind him, and he turned again. Velez had taken advantage of the distraction his men provided, and acquired a tazer, most likely from the duffel bag still sitting on the floor. And then he'd used it. The leads were buried in her chest, and Olivia screamed, thrashing and writhing in her bonds—the tazer had more power than the hand-cranked generator. Her arms and legs yanked involuntarily against the ropes holding her down to the chair, and Clayton knew she was going to have raw sores there later.

"All right! All right!" he let Sandra go, dropping the knife, and the woman spun away from him. Velez kept his hand on the tazer's trigger, letting Olivia's screams fill the room, and Clayton howled in anguish "I let her go, now stop it!"

And mercifully, Velez did let go. Olivia slumped, breathing harshly, raggedly, muscles still spasming. Three men stepped forward to form a ring around Clayton as Velez stepped forward. "Sandra, my dear, I do believe we've found the general's weak spot. Hook Miss Benson up again, will you?" Sandra picked up the black control box and generator from the floor, started wordlessly reconnecting the wires as Velez indicated the laptop sitting on the table. "Set up that communications line you were talking about."

It was a matter of a few seconds, and Clayton hesitated just before he punched in the final code that would connect him with HQ. One look at Sandra, standing behind Olivia holding the generator (now fully reconnected to the main nerves in Olivia's body) decided him, and he finished typing in the sequence that would open the vidphone line.


	14. Chapter 56: Negotiation

**Chapter 56: Negotiation**

There was a slight pause as whoever was on the other end in Communications verified Hawk's personal command code, then a slightly longer pause—he figured the duty Communications officer was trying to locate Flint, the ranking officer on base after Hawk himself, then the laptop screen flickered and came on, and Christ, his heart stopped when he saw Flint and his people in full dress uniform, in the briefing room, he saw Clancy in handcuffs, and Lieutenant General Johnson, and _oh __shit, __the __Secretary __of __Defense!_But the man moved almost as soon as Clayton saw him, moved off camera, presumably to observe without being seen.

Before Clayton could speak Velez stepped into view of the laptop's camera. "Let me introduce myself, for those of you who don't know who I am. I'm Cesar Velez, and you have something I want." He peered closely at the screen. "Ah. So nice to see you again, Ms. Cabot. You look rather better than you did in the last photo I saw you in. No matter; I can fix that when I see you again." He looked again. "Ah. General Clancy. I assume from the handcuffs that you have been discovered. That is fine, I have no further use for you anymore. I have what I need in order to get Ms. Cabot here."

"We do not negotiate with terrorists and criminals." Flint spoke for everyone in the room; the Secretary stepped further back from the briefing room webcam's pickup, apparently content to let Flint take the lead; a smart move, since they didn't want Velez knowing just how close to the President he was.

"I realize that is the official position you have to take. But this is somewhat different, isn't it? I have a highly-classified American General here at the moment, as well as a civilian who, I believe, is rather important to Ms. Cabot personally." He turned the laptop so that the webcam could pick up Olivia, slumped limply in the chair, barely conscious from his assault on her with the tazer. Sandra had finished reattaching all the wires Clayton had pulled off, and Clayton could see the sudden pallor of Flint's face.

There was a commotion in the briefing room, and two female voices rang out simultaneously; Scarlett's, in a tone of disbelief and rage; "Sandra!" and Alex's, in grief and anguish and fury, crying Olivia's name.

"_**Olivia**_! You son of a bitch, Velez, you let her go! It's me you want, not her! Leave her alone, she's innocent in all of this!"

Velez's slow smirk infuriated Clayton. "Then come find me, Ms. Cabot. Come and find me, and get your lover back."

"And bring that redhead with you, she and I have a score to settle," Sandra snapped to Scarlett, who'd taken a few involuntary steps forward and was now standing close to the briefing room screen. Clayton wondered if she realized she'd unconsciously taken an offensive posture; standing lightly on the balls of her feet, feet shoulder width apart, ready to launch into attack at a moment's notice.

"You name the place, I'll be there. Don't you dare touch her!" the last was said in tone of helpless rage; Alex could see Olivia was already in pain.

"Like this?" Sandra turned the crank, and Olivia went rigid in her bonds again, screaming as electric current tore through her. Sandra didn't let up, this time, until Olivia was unconscious; the current locked her muscles until she ran out of air and Sandra didn't allow her to get her breath back. As Velez turned the laptop screen back to himself, Clayton saw Alex was crying. _I__'__ll __do __my __best,_ he swore to her silently, but even he knew there wasn't much he could do at the moment.

"Wherever you want. Name the place." There was so much fury in Alex's voice you could cut it with a knife.

"Not here. Not in your country. In mine, in Colombia, in Medellin. Let's say, two weeks, that will give you enough time to figure out travel arrangements since, at the moment, you have nothing. I have your wallet, your identification—I took the liberty of emptying your personal bank account into mine. Consider it the price you paid for dealing a blow to my organization's finances five years ago." He looked at the other people on the screen. "I will allow a small force of you only and it must include that redhead who went undercover at the ICC; her co-conspirator, who posed as Sandra's driver; and Ms. Cabot herself. If I see more than six of you in Medellin I will kill your General and Ms. Benson myself. I have contacts at the airports, and on the ground; I will know when you have arrived. I will contact your headquarters once I know Ms. Cabot has arrived and give you a meeting location." And the screen went dark.

Alex wasn't sure what she expected when the briefing room vidphone link came up. Seeing Clayton nude, bruised, one eye swelling shut, lip split and bleeding, was one thing—but when the laptop turned and she saw Sandra and Olivia, all rational thought fled her mind. Olivia…there were wires everywhere…and then Sandra turned the crank, and Alex saw Olivia arch and scream as the electric current tore her apart…

_You __son __of __a __bitch. __That__'__s __it. __This __ends __now. __One __way __or __another. __She __didn__'__t __do __anything __to __you, __your __argument __was __with __me, __oh __God, __Olivia_…and Clayton, and Flint, and everyone else who had been suckered into this deadly chess game between Cesar Velez's black king and Alex's white queen and had paid the ultimate price. _No __more. __**No **__**more.**_**"****NO ****MORE!****"**

She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until the Secretary of Defense cleared his throat. "I agree with you, Private Cabot, but at the moment meeting him in Colombia is not an option. You have testimony that has not been given, testimony that could convict someone guilty of far more deaths than those of Ms. Benson and General Abernathy."

"You're just going to hang them out to dry." Alex stared at him in disbelief. "What about protecting civilians? What about not leaving anyone behind?"

"At the moment, Private Cabot, their lives are insignificant in light of the greater picture. Your testimony is more important than anything else."

"I am not testifying unless rescue of Olivia Benson and Clayton Abernathy is considered." Alex folded her arms. "Damn it, it wouldn't even be a consideration if the damned chip the ICC put in my head was still here."

"The chip?" Lady Jaye froze as Cover Girl stared at Alex. "But…we have the chip. We just couldn't decode it, it's encrypted. Our techs have been working on it for weeks."

Alex sucked in a harsh breath. "You have it? But—he ripped it out of my head—damaged my auditory nerve, broke one of the bones, that's why I can't hear now—"

"He dropped it in the mud under the tree," Flint spoke, looking chagrinned. "When the rest of the team came to rescue us, Lady Jaye's boots caught up clods of that mud. We found it later when we got you on the medical chopper. We decided not to give it to the UN." He finished grimly, "I'm glad now that we didn't. Who knows how far they've been compromised."

"But…if you have the chip…I have the encryption codes. You can decrypt it and get it to the ICC. You don't need me. We can go get Olivia and Clayton—"

"No," Flint and the Secretary said together.

Flint exploded. "Jesus, Alex! He's setting you up! Going in with just five of us—Scarlett and Snake Eyes and you and three others—he's planning on capturing you! And once he gets you—damn it, Alex, you know what he's going to do!"

"Yes. I know." Her face was pale but composed.

"Then you know you're not coming back. He'll kill you on sight."

"No, he won't. Didn't you hear him? He wants to savor it, savor his victory. He wants to enjoy it. He's a large, dangerous, predatory cat, and he sees me as the mouse. He's going to play with his prey before he eats it." Flint winced at that imagery. "And while he plays with me, you can get Olivia and Clayton out. It's the same scenario that was originally planned for Zimurinda; let Velez capture me, use my location to track him down, and wipe him out."

"Alex…no. I can see all kinds of ways this could go wrong. We can't give you to him. We can't let him win."

Alex blew up. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes turned into blue flame. "He has already won. He won five years of my life. He won my peace of mind, my sense of safety and security, and it's only thanks to you that he didn't get my life. But now he has Olivia and is doing…God-knows-what…to her. He has already won the battle. All I can do is make sure he doesn't win the war. And if I have to sacrifice myself in order to do that…then that's what I'll do. Don't forget the trees make up the forest, isn't that what you said? Life isn't that different from the chess game, Flint. And the bishop and the knight are worth the queen's sacrifice."

"No! It's not! _Nothing_ is worth what you went through, Alex. _Nothing_!"

"You're all forgetting something." They all turned. The Secretary was standing there; he'd been so quiet that they'd forgotten he was even there. "Any operation you even consider has to be vetted by the US Military."

He looked tired. "I wasn't here for Ms. Cabot's recovery, Warrant Officer. I don't know what you felt when you and she were prisoners in that militia camp. God help me, but I don't want to know. I don't think I could handle it, and I don't know how you could. I don't know what you felt watching her recover. But what I do know is that she has every right to feel as she does. This man has taken more away from her that anyone has a right to. Her desire to, as she puts it, 'not let him win' stems from that, and I believe, having been through this unimaginable experience once, she knows exactly what awaits her if she steps into it again." Alex nodded. "I also know that a very basic part of our job is to protect civilians. Even civilians like Ms. Cabot, who seem determined to go and get themselves killed. Even though I know that Ms. Cabot isn't actually a part of the American military, she has behaved like on every step of the way. She has put the safety, life, and feelings of her fellow human beings ahead of her own, even when it meant she took more pain, more degradation, more humiliation. There is no finer example of the American fighting spirit than Ms. Cabot has shown, and I am proud to call her Private Cabot.

"We pride ourselves on never leaving anyone behind. We will not now leave General Abernathy in enemy hands, nor can we leave another civilian, Private Cabot's friend, in enemy hands. That much I also know. So with all of that in mind, let me speak with those who make the decisions, see what they recommend. I am ordering all of you, including Private Cabot, to take no further action until you hear from me. Is that clear?"

Everyone nodded. Even Alex.

"Alex?"

The soft tap on her door startled her out of her reverie, and she looked up. Flint, Lady Jaye and Ettienne all stood there. Flint held up a hand. "We just happened to get here at the same time Ettienne did. We're not going to get on your case and we're not going to be here long. I just want to know one thing, Alex; when I found you and the girls in Allie's room, earlier—this was why you asked, isn't it?"

"Yes," Alex said, sitting up from where she'd been lying on the bed reading. "Yes, it is. But I didn't know that Liv had…Liv had been kidnapped. I asked because Cesar Velez will never stop until he has me and I am so sick of fighting him that I would rather just find him, face him, and have it over with. Even if it means I'll die, and die horribly—at least there will finally be peace after that death." Her eyes begged him to understand.

He understood. He understood that she was tired. She'd been on her guard every day for two years in witness protection; then every day since Cesar Velez saw her in the ICC jail and plotted to bring her down. She was tired of being on her guard, tired of watching the pawns around her on the chessboard being slaughtered to protect the queen. She had felt some kind of duty to protect them, had been forced to watch as they fell, one by one. "The white queen has been watching too many of her pieces fall to the black king. It's been one long agonizing game after another and the queen has decided to end the tournament with a sudden-death endgame."

"Yes," she said. "Dash…I need you to understand. Whether the Secretary of Defense okays the mission or not, I will go out there and I will buy Olivia and Clayton's life with mine. I have no choice, I have to do this."

"Yes," Allie spoke now, her voice soft. "Yes, we know. That's why I came to give you this." She handed Alex a book. "Just promise me you'll wait until we hear something. Once we know whether they say yes or no, then decide. Please, Alex."

Alex took the book. Saw the title. Looked up at Allie. "Allie…" _Survival, __Evasion, __Resistance, __and __Escape._

"Just…just take it. Don't say anything. Please." And Allie turned away, tears spilling down her cheeks. Flint followed her wordlessly.

Ettienne was left standing by the door, looking at her. She looked up at him, mute pleading in her eyes. "Please understand."

He crossed the room in a rush, dropping to the bed beside her, and crushed her in a tight hug. "I do understand, Alex," he said, his Cajun accent thick with emotion. "I swear I do understand. But, Alex, I can't pretend dat it's not bot'ering me. I love you, I really do, and watching you do dis…make dese hard decisions—it's hard for me too." He pulled back, looked into her watering blue ones. "I don't like it, but I understand. And Alex, if de Secretary don' say dis mission is okay, if you decide to go out dere an' trade your life for t'eirs, please…let me know, so I can go wit' you. At least…" he choked on the words, his voice breaking. "At least I can say goodbye."

"If you go with me, you'll get in trouble. Court martial, military prison."

"I don't care. I don't care. It would be worth it just to be able to say goodbye, to see you one last time."

Alex drew in a deep breath. "Okay. Ettienne, I promise that I'll let you know when I leave, all right?" he nodded and stood, turning away.

"Wait…" she rose from the bed, hand held out. He turned and looked at her, and the pain and anguish in his eyes tore at her heart. She reached out to fold him in her arms, her own heart aching. "I'm sorry, Ettienne. This is…just something I have to do. Thank you for understanding."

"I love you, Alex. For however long you're going to be here. I fell in love with you on the trip to Nzoka, and it hasn't changed. I'm always going to. I've never known anyone like you."

"Even with what I look like now?" she stepped away from him. "Even knowing what I looked like after Zimurinda got done with me, seeing what I looked like on the helicopter from the DRC, can you still say you love me knowing what I look like now?"

"I don't care what you look like," and even as he said it he knew it was true. He didn't care what she looked like; didn't care that, according to Clancy, she would never be able to have a fulfilling physical relationship because of the physical damage done to her body. He hadn't fallen in love with her beauty, although he had to admit to himself honestly that he'd first become interested in her when he'd seen her photo in the paperwork that Clancy had sent over with their initial mission orders. But in the time since he'd first seen that photo, he'd come to know the woman behind the pretty face, and there was so much more there. He didn't care about the packaging now; it was what was inside that counted.

"You don't care what I look like? Really?" Her fatigues hit the floor.

The last time he had seen her nude she'd been screaming in pain in the back of the helicopter and she'd had yards of blood-stained bandages wadded all around her body trying to keep her from bleeding her life out on Lifeline's stretcher. Now he forced himself to put that mental picture aside, to look at her objectively. And in comparison with what he'd imagined she'd look like under the fatigues, she was actually not that bad. The majority of the cuts she'd sustained across her breasts, torso, stomach and thighs had faded to thin red lines; here and there a few healing bruises still clung to her skin, but she really didn't look that different.

"Alex, I don't know what you're paranoid about. You're gorgeous." And, desperate to erase that look of wounded uncertainty from her eyes, he took her in his arms and kissed her.

He didn't mean for it to go any further, but all thought vanished as her lips softened, parted under his tentatively.


	15. Chapter 57: Escape Attempt

**Chapter 57: Escape Attempt**

"Rise and shine!"

The bare bulb hanging over Clayton's head flickered, flared into life, and he squinted in the sudden, bright glare. After sitting for—how long?—in the pitch blackness of wherever 'here' was, his eyes took some time to adjust to the light. When he could finally make out details he saw Sandra Velasquez standing there looking at him with her hands braced on her hips. "My. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

He didn't respond; instead, his eyes flicked across the bright circle of light to see how Olivia was doing. After they'd turned off the laptop, severing the connection with HQ, he'd been manhandled back into his chair, roughly tied back in the same position, and Velez and Sandra had turned the light off and left the room with the laptop and duffel bag and the room was silent except for the sound of Olivia's ragged breathing. "Are you okay? Liv?" he'd finally ventured to ask after her ragged breaths had evened out.

"I'm fine," she'd said, and to his immense relief she didn't sound afraid, or in pain. She sounded…well, pissed. And that was good. "Christ but that friggin' hurt. "Her voice took on a slightly ashamed note. "I'm sorry I made such a baby out of myself. It won't be so bad next time because I know what it feels like now."

"Don't feel like that. You didn't 'make a baby' out of yourself. The human body doesn't have a long memory for pain, not like it has for pleasure, so you're never going to be 'prepared' for it. There's no such thing."

"Sounds like that came out of a manual."

He grinned, even though he knew she couldn't see it in the dark. "As a matter of fact, it is. We're elite soldiers and part of being 'elite' is that you have to learn a lot of unpleasant things. One of those things is an intensive course on interrogation techniques, what to do when you're captured, that sort of thing."

"You took those courses?" her voice was soft.

"Yeah, I had to, they're required."

"Must have been hell."

He sighed. "You're not that far off the mark there. I've had Dash tell me he was glad he didn't know Allie when she took it because he would have had to suppress the urge to strangle the instructor multiple times during the course. It's unpleasant, but you do learn some valuable information."

"For instance?" When he hesitated, she said quietly, "I'm trying to take my mind off this whole thing so please, since they apparently don't have a problem with us talking…"

"Don't hold your breath when something hurts in an effort to fight the pain. When you deprive your brain of oxygen you'll send your subconscious into a panic and then it'll hurt more." He went on to tell her everything he remembered from that manual that she might be able to use in this situation; he wished he'd had a chance to look in the manual provided for the girls so he could give her some information relative to her particular gender, but he would have to settle for generalities that applied to both.

Now, as the light came on and he saw Velez and Sandra standing there, he felt a sick dread in the pit of his stomach that she might be called on to try some of those techniques; that he would have to try and practice some of those techniques himself. He'd never before had to apply any of that learned knowledge before and he didn't really want to now, but it didn't look like he was going to have a choice.

Sandra started pulling wires off Olivia's electrodes as Velez untied Clayton. As soon as they were done Velez grabbed Clayton's wrists and tied them behind Clayton's back, then dropped a heavy black hood over Clayton's head. From the sounds coming from across the room, Olivia was receiving the same treatment from Sandra. "Let's go," Velez said, presumably as soon as Olivia's hands were secured. "We're going to go for a little voyage."

They couldn't see where they were going, but Clayton identified first concrete, or something hard under his feet, then something soft and yielding, like carpet. Velez tugged upward on his arm, and his feet found a step. Stairs. And they went up.

"Move it, bitch!" he heard from behind him, and Olivia gave a muffled cry.

"Easy, Sandra," Velez said. "Don't damage her too much…yet."

"You're getting Alex Cabot. Why can't I have this one?" And she shoved Olivia again, to judge by the sound of stumbling steps.

"Because we still have a long way to go!" Velez sounded impatient. "Tell you what, let's get them on the boat first, then you can go ahead and exercise your…skills…on her. Just a little. Don't kill her, and no fatal damage."

"Thank you," And Sandra sounded positively gleeful; Clayton wanted to strangle her again, for the umpteenth time. _Twisted __little __bitch._

He felt cool air on his skin, and muffled by the hood but still recognizable, the sound of car horns and car engines. They were outside, then; and he tensed his muscles.

"Don't try it, General," Velez warned. "Because of Sandra's fun earlier, Miss Benson isn't moving very well right now, and if you run she won't be able to follow. "

Clayton relaxed, defeated. Velez was right; the son of a bitch knew exactly what buttons to push. He couldn't leave Olivia here. Both of them would go, or neither of them. It was that simple.

"Get in," and Clayton lifted his feet as he felt a hard bumper strike his shin. Sandra was being much less gentle with Olivia; he heard the breath hiss out of Olivia's lungs as Sandra apparently either shoved or threw her bodily into the van. Hands fastened something around his ankles; his money would have been on plastic cable ties; these were fastened around his ankles, then his wrists were pulled back and he was effectively hogtied. "It's too tight!" he heard Olivia gasp, a sound abruptly cut off.

"Olivia?" he twisted his head, trying to identify the direction of the sounds. Close to him, near, but in his hogtied position he couldn't physically identify her location.

Velez sounded curious. "Sandra, what…"

"I'm replacing the ties with rope. In a hogtie position, if this end goes around her neck, if she struggles to free her wrists and ankles she'll strangle herself. I've tied it a little tighter than necessary because I don't want them talking." Sandra sounded viciously satisfied. "I heard them earlier; the Army General was giving her lessons in how to withstand torture. Now that I have your permission, I can see if she learned those lessons—and I get to see if I can break Army conditioning. "

The van door slammed, and Clayton was left with the sound of his own heartbeat loud in his ears, his breath making the atmosphere inside the hood more humid. By calming and regulating his breathing, he was finally able to isolate and identify the sound of Olivia's tortured, raspy breathing in the hood on the other side of him. "Stay calm, Liv," he told her, knowing she couldn't answer but knowing that she could hear him, and hoping that the sound of his voice could calm her so she didn't asphyxiate. "Take deep even breaths and don't struggle. This is not going to be the ideal time to try and escape, so we'll wait for another opportunity."

They rode for what seemed like a long time, but Clayton knew how time could become distorted while in captivity in a situation when you couldn't check a watch or clock, and he also knew that their captors were perfectly capable of driving in circles just to confuse them and make them think they'd traveled further than they actually had. Finally, the van stopped and he heard the door open.

The ropes around his ankles were jerked off and he flexed them, trying to return circulation to his feet in case they had to move in a hurry. He heard a retching sound, and moments later Olivia's breathing wasn't as torturous; they'd removed the rope from her neck, then. Thank God for small mercies.

He could feel heat on his skin, and a moment later a cool breeze. Even through the hood over his head he could smell salt air, and moments later a breeze ruffled the hair on his arms.

His feet hit hard wood; planking. He froze, trying to make sense of it all. A marina? And then he remembered Velez saying they were going on a voyage, and he figured it out. He must have a boat. _He's going to put us on the boat and slip us into Colombia. Christ. Now isn't the time to try an escape attempt; but I also don't really want to try escaping while on foreign soil with a civilian in tow!_

He was still racking his brain for an answer when he was shoved forward, and he stepped forward, instinct making him put his feet down to prevent falling over—and then almost fell over anyway, as the deck rolled upward to meet him. And that decided him; on the boat, no one would hear them scream, or if anyone did they were unlikely to help. They had to try and escape now.

Apparently Olivia had the same idea, because he heard Sandra suddenly give a cry. "Bitch!" He followed up with his own attack, lashing out with a foot, encountering a knee, hearing cartilage pop and Velez howl with sudden pain. He turned back to run the way they'd come, but suddenly strong arms were wrapped around him in a bear hug, then he heard the unmistakable sound of a tazer crackling, and Olivia's scream.

Hands yanked the hood off his head, and he blinked in the sunlight. Yes, a marina—and he recognized the place as Rockaway, where the rich and famous had their residences. The boat they were on was a huge pleasure yacht; Hawk's eye for boats identified it as a custom-built, very expensive twenty-million-dollar vessel, and he felt stunned as he realized just how much money Velez had.

A huge bear of a man had Clayton wrapped in a bear-hug; now he applied pressure to Clayton's shoulders, forcing him to his knees; across from him, Olivia was being forced to her knees by another of Velez's muscle.

Velez himself was clinging to the rail, taking weight off his left leg. "Get them below," he hissed to the men. "I will be down in a moment to deal with them." The muscled goons manhandled Clayton and Olivia down the hatch into the bowels of the yacht, almost carrying Olivia because her legs were shaking too much from Sandra's punitive assault with the tazer.

He tried to memorize the details of the ship as they went through its bowels, but when he saw the room the men shoved their two captives into he almost turned and ran again. At first glance it looked like a private medical clinic, with exam table, dental chair, and all the other accoutrements; but the chair and the table were both bristling with thick leather straps, of the kind one would use to secure mental patients in a ward, and suddenly simple medical instruments took on a sinister new light. He fought as much as he could, but they'd been joined by more of Velez's muscle, and moments later they had stripped him and secured him to the dental chair, and Olivia was trying weakly to fight, in an uncoordinated, rather disjointed way, as they stripped her and thenstrapped her down to the table with her legs spread apart. Clayton felt sick dread. _Jesus. __They__'__re __going __to __torture __her __in __front __of __me __and __there __won__'__t __be __a __damn __thing __I __can __do __about __it!_ He yanked at his bonds, but the buckles and straps were tight and it was futile.

And here came Velez and Sandra. "New rules," Velez said without preamble, his eyes cold and hard. "If one of you misbehaves the other will receive punishment. Ms. Benson kicked Sandra up on deck; Mr. Abernathy will pay the price." Sandra fired the tazer she held into Clayton's groin.

Every muscle in his body locked as the current tore into him. He heard a high-pitched screaming, didn't even know it was his own voice until the tazer released him and he slammed back down into the chair, gasping harshly for breath. "Mr. Abernathy kicked my knee, I assume hoping to take me out. For that Ms. Benson will pay the price."

Sandra walked over to Olivia with the tazer. "No!" he screamed. "I did it, punish _me,_ not her, you sick twisted little bitch!" but Sandra just smiled as Olivia's screams filled the cabin.

Velez wandered over to Olivia's bound body as Sandra lowered the tazer. Olivia slumped in her bonds on the table, gasping for breath, but Clayton saw her thigh muscles tense as Velez stroked her inner thigh, then laid a hand on her stomach. Her hips twisted as she tried to shake off his hand, but Sandra added another leather strap across her pelvis, buckling it tight, and Olivia's face twisted in pain (though she didn't scream) as Velez pinched sensitive flesh that she couldn't move away from now that her hips were secured.

"So you like women, Miss Benson." Velez's voice was a silky croon. "I guarantee you, when Sandra gets done with you, you will never look at a woman the same again." He turned to Sandra. "No permanent physical damage. Not yet anyway. And…" he paused. "You're welcome to try some of the exotic drug mixes we've been developing for the market."

The look of glee on Sandra's face made Clayton feel ill. "I'm sorry, Liv," he whispered. "Jesus, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." Olivia's voice was steady even if there was fear in her eyes as she saw Sandra puttering around at the far side of the room, where the counter and drawers were, Velez having left the room. "Just don't tell this twisted bitch where Alex is."

"Oh, is that a challenge?" Sandra purred as she came over to Olivia's table with a syringe of some kind of liquid. "I think I'll enjoy this." Olivia struggled, but with her arms already strapped down, it was too easy for Sandra to pick a spot inside her elbow and slip the needle under her skin. "Let's give that time to soften you up, then we'll start working," she purred.

Olivia's eyes rolled up into her head as her breathing hitched, and Clayton closed his eyes in anguish.


	16. Chapter 58:Healing

**Chapter 58: Healing**

The fact that Ettienne and Alex were now 'an item' caused no end of consternation among the Joes at base. There was one faction, headed by Scarlett, who were openly gleeful about it, happy for both Alex and Ettienne; another, headed by Courtney, who thought it was too soon, that Alex couldn't have healed fully yet, and Etienne was taking advantage of her. And both of those viewpoints concerned Allie.

She cornered Doc in the medlabs. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors, that Alex is sleeping with Ettienne now."

"Yes."

"Is she healed enough for that?"

Doc thought carefully. "I don't think I can discuss that with you, Allie."

"Why not? I've been involved in her recovery since we got here!"

"Because this isn't part of her recovery, this is something personal and private. And I think you should ask Alex herself instead of asking me."

Muttering about thickheaded males, Allie went to find Alex.

Alex was folding clothes and storing them in her footlocker when Allie tapped on her door. She snapped to attention, but Allie waved her down. "Sit. This isn't a formal visit, although it does have to do with business." Alex sat on the bed; Allie sat in the chair beside it. For a moment no one spoke, Allie trying to find the words to ask what she wanted…no, needed…to ask.

"Allie." Alex spoke softly. "I know what I'm doing."

"It's just…are you healed enough for this? Alex, three months ago you were at death's door with wounds so terrible Shana threw up when she saw you! How can you…"

"I don't know," Alex shook her head. "It kind of caught me by surprise too. It's just…he'd been spending so much time with me, helping me heal and then working with me on getting muscle tone and stamina back."

"So you feel like you owe him."

Alex sighed. "No. I just…Allie, I started to like him back when we were in the DRC. What he did for Shandi…I always wanted a man like him, someone strong physically but compassionate…I see a lot of things in him that I loved in Kris." There was pain in her eyes at the mention of the French doctor but her voice was steady; she was healing from that emotional wound too. "I…care about him. I care _for_ him. Deeply. I don't know if it's love yet, but I'm willing to let this go as far as it can and see if it is love."

Allie hesitated, but she had to ask. "How are you doing…physically?"

Alex turned pink. "The…damage wasn't as…extensive as I thought it was. Clancy wasn't right."

"Does it hurt when…"

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Allie…"

"I know, I know, it's none of my business. Fine." Allie started to get up off the bed, but Alex's hand on her arm stopped her.

"That's not what I was going to say. Allie, in all of this, I never thought to apologize to you. This has been harder on you than anyone else except Dash and I, harder than it was on 'Tienne in some ways. He saw what I looked like while you were fighting a near-fatal gunshot wound on the way back, so you didn't know. All you had was the pictures, and even I have to admit the pictures look worse than the actual damage. And…you look so much like Olivia…I didn't want to use you as a replacement for her, because this is normally the kind of thing Liv and I would talk about."

"I want to be your friend, Alex. I want you to know you can talk to me. Courtney is…well…she means well but sometimes she can be…" Allie fished for words.

"Blunt and indelicate." Alex grinned. "I have a friend much like that. Casey Novak. Come to think of it, she's a tomboy just like Courtney."

"Yes. And Shana…Shana's a martial arts master. She keeps her emotions so under control that sometimes it can be hard for someone who doesn't know her that well to talk to her, and she can push sometimes if she thinks that she feels she's right."

"Like locking Dash and I in my room until we talked?"

The memory of that night heated Allie's blood and made her blush. "Yes. Well. She was right about that, it did exorcise some of Dash's demons. And it was apparently good for you too, you started sleeping better. Even Doc was pleased."

Alex lay back on her bed, fingers laced behind her head as she stared at the ceiling. "All right, fair enough. Let's see. In answer to your question, no, it doesn't hurt because we…um…sort of haven't gotten to that point yet." She turned pink. "He's…taking it very slowly. There's a part of me that's glad because I still don't know if I'm fully healed or not—regardless of what Doc says…but then I get frustrated too because I can see that he…wants…desperately, and he's forcing himself not to just…follow his instincts. And I want to…to make this good for him, too, but…he says he's not comfortable with…certain things… because he said he knows that the militia members back at the camp forced me to do that to them and he can't bear to…have me…"

"He's not comfortable having your lips wrapped around him because he knows you were orally raped." Allie wasn't going to mince words.

Alex's lips quirked in a smile. "Now who's being blunt?"

Allie laughed. "Guilty. Alex, it's okay. It really _isn't_ any of my business, and I _didn't_ have any right to ask. I just wanted to make sure this was what you really _wanted,_ and you weren't doing this because you felt some sort of need to 'repay' him for what you think he's done for you while you were recovering. Feeling obligated to 'repay' him sexually could have psychological consequences later."

"I don't feel obligated to repay him with sexual favors," Alex rolled her eyes. "However, he did do a lot for me while I was recovering."

"But he did it because he wanted to, not because you made him, or he was compelled in some way, to help you."

"You guys were compelled to help me," Alex pointed out softly.

"No, actually, we weren't. Our orders were pretty specific, and the rules are pretty strict about bringing a civilian here to base. We didn't have to smuggle you out of the DRC under the UN's noses, we didn't have to bring you here in defiance of our orders. Before this whole thing started we didn't even know you. What we did, we did because we wouldn't have been able to look ourselves in the mirror and call ourselves decent human beings if we hadn't. I would never have felt right about leaving you there in that African hospital, and we all felt the same. We chose to do what we did because we wanted to, because we felt it was the right thing to do."

"And after seeing what you looked like when you came in, even Clayton had to admit we did what was best. Even if we did break every rule in the book." Shana's voice came from the doorway; she'd opened the door so quietly that the two women hadn't even known she was there. "So stop beating yourself up over it, and Allie, stop picking on Alex about it. I'm actually glad that Alex is finding herself still able to feel attraction to someone, that she can even consider—because seriously, I'm not sure I'd be able to if it were me."

"Even for SnakeEyes?" Alex teased lightly.

"Mmm. I don't know." Shana sighed. "Come on, you two—the Secretary of Defense's on the line, wants to speak with all of us."

Suddenly apprehensive, Alex and Allie headed for the briefing room.

"You people have no idea what I've gone through over this," the Secretary of Defense looked tired as he slumped tiredly over a hardwood conference table. "I've spoken to the CIA, our military intelligence, the FBI, and the President over this. And as reluctant as everyone is to put Ms. Cabot in harm's way _again_, we cannot ignore this situation. General Hawk must _not_ be allowed to remain in enemy hands, and Cesar Velez must not be allowed to continue not only threatening Ms. Cabot's life but also indulging in his illegal activities. The audiochip you gave us was decrypted with the codes Private Cabot provided us, and the results were transmitted to the ICC—with the added security of us keeping a copy of the material contained therein." He ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it. "Private Cabot, after hearing the contents of that chip, please be aware that your safety is our priority—this is direct from the President himself. I don't know if any of you were aware that the captured audiofeed picked up some of the sounds of Ms. Cabot's…torture…but it was extremely difficult to listen to and the President himself was visibly moved. His directives for this mission are to ensure the retrieval of the hostages and your safety, in that order. The President has entrusted the selection of your escort of five to me and should anything happen to you and your escort, I will be directly answerable to him for the consequences."

Alex swallowed hard.

"With that in mind, there will be an escort of five and it will include Master Sergeant O'Hara and Master Sergeant Snake Eyes, whose personnel profiles stood out to the president himself as being equal to the job of protecting Private Cabot. I am unfortunately not well acquainted with the rest of you due to my regrettable decision to delegate much of the responsibility of personnel selection and acquaintance to the late General Clancy—"

"Wait. What do you mean 'late'?"

"General Clancy was targeted by a sniper during his transfer from military holding at the Pentagon, where he was being questioned as to the depth of his involvement in Cesar Velez's machinations, to Leavenworth. While his initial wound was not fatal, he died of his injuries later. I must say here that those who have been made aware of this entire despicable fiasco found it extremely hard to feel any regret at his loss, particularly after hearing the audio from the chip. The sniper was located but killed himself rather than surrender to our custody."

"I can't exactly say I'm going to feel any regret either," Scarlett said candidly.

The Secretary smiled grimly. "I expect there are many who would agree with you there at Joe base. All right. Warrant Officer Faireborn, as you are the current default base commander in General Hawk's absence, I will delegate to you the responsibility for choosing who will be included in the escort team. You were captured along with Private Cabot; you know probably better than anyone, except perhaps Private Cabot herself, what she endured, and I feel absolute confidence in your desire to avoid a repeat performance."

Flint snapped a crisp salute. "Sir."

"The CIA, military intelligence, the SEALs, and other armed forces under the direct supervision of Chief General Hill based at SouthCom headquarters in Miami are currently looking at ways to slip a security force into Colombia, the aim being to draw a security net tight around Cesar Velez, to capture him at the moment he chooses to strike. You will not be alone in this as you were with your last mission. You will have the support of the entire US military and intelligence community. The mission directives of recovering General Hawk—and Ms. Benson—and keeping Private Cabot safe has been placed as the highest priority directive for this mission, and every trooper who will become involved will be made aware of this. While every effort will be made to capture Cesar Velez alive, he must be eliminated and deadly force is authorized to ensure Private Cabot's protection."

"Thank you, Sir." Alex saluted.

"Warrant Officer, you will forward your choice of escorts to me by the end of the day today so I can present the personnel list to the President. Travel arrangements will be made tomorrow so that you will be able to make the two week deadline laid in place by Cesar Velez himself. We will need to appear to be playing by his rules, but rest assured, we will have every resource available to us in that region working to accomplish this goal. Do we understand each other?"

"Aye-aye, Sir!" came the crisp chorus of salutes from the assembled Joes.


	17. Chapter 59: Resistance

**Chapter 59: Resistance**

"Clayton?" The harsh whisper jerked Clayton awake.

"Oh God. Olivia. Hang in there." He couldn't ask her if she was okay; he knew she wasn't.

Sandra had proved herself an excellent torturer. After injecting Olivia with whatever the drug had been, she'd left it to begin its work; When Olivia had succumbed to it, had started hallucinating, she'd returned.

What ensued was easily the equal to everything Clayton had ever seen and heard about concentration camps. Electricity seemed to be Sandra's favorite weapon; she used it frequently and often. The difference between what she was doing now and when Olivia and Clayton had been back in the basement of Velez's rented house in Rockaway was that here, with Olivia strapped flat to a table, her body was now completely accessible for whatever Sandra wanted to do.

Sandra used electrified probes to various parts of Olivia's body skillfully. At the moment there were electrified probes on and in Olivia's body and Clayton had cursed Sandra in every language he knew. Sandra blindfolded her, then put a set of earphones on her head that would cancel out exterior noise, forcing Olivia to hear only whatever Sandra had recorded. When Sandra had added electric current to the probes in Olivia's body and electrodes on her skin, the combination of what she was hearing and feeling at the same time made a potent, mind-altering combination. Given that her career had been built on catching serial rapists and child molesters, Clayton knew her mind had a lot of memories of past cases to draw from. She would scream names as her body convulsed in pain, beg the criminal in her mind to stop hurting her, and the name list…Clayton couldn't even imagine what that must be like.

The name Harris popped up frequently; Gitano, too, and Nick Ganzner. Clayton now wished he'd punched the son of a bitch in the restaurant. The comment Nick had made about her getting her kicks looking at victim photos had apparently fed a long-standing internal conflict Olivia had about her real motivations for working the kinds of cases she investigated; she knew she wasn't like that but she also knew what people like Nick Ganzner thought, and Clayton wished he could reassure her that few people thought that way—okay, he didn't think that at all and he was disgusted that anyone could even think so.

Gitano; listening to Olivia's disjointed ramblings and screams of pain as she begged Gitano to hurt her, not a little girl named Rebecca, Clayton had to grit his teeth. If this was the kind of thing she carried in her head all the time, no wonder she didn't want to talk about it to her significant other when she was with them, and he admired her strength in dealing with these sorts of cases. There were images of war, of fights and battles with his soldiers, that he carried around in his head; that he'd never wanted anyone else (like a wife) to have in their heads; apparently Olivia had them too, but hers were so much harder. He couldn't imagine how hard it would be to close his eyes and see a bleeding child.

And some sick son of a bitch named Harris. She never spoke his first name but he figured prominently in the worst of her hallucinations. Clayton, listening to her, wondered about him. Sandra's worst tortures and Olivia's worst pain corresponded with the appearance of Harris's name, and although Olivia never specified in her ramblings what she was actually seeing him do to her, her screams were of pain and fear. Whatever he'd done was so bad that she still carried it around with her, and Clayton, listening to her, knew that whatever had happened to Olivia at Harris's hands had been enough to shake her, to rattle her to her soul, and he hoped she'd talked about it to someone. He'd seen people keep secrets like that, secrets that hurt them and ultimately destroyed them, and he didn't want to see that happen to Olivia.

Sandra had left when the drugs had worn off, leaving Olivia limp and exhausted, sobbing tiredly on the table. "Rest now," she'd crooned to Olivia, trailing a hand over Olivia's electrodes, tapping the probes embedded in Olivia's lower body, smiling when Olivia gasped with pain. "I don't want to ruin your mind too early. So I'll let those drugs wear off before we start again."

Olivia's sobs had died to silence for a time; Clayton hoped maybe she'd managed to get some sleep, some sort of relief, even temporarily, from the pain in her body. He knew the drugs had worn off and she was herself again when he heard her voice come out of the darkness, weakly whispering his name.

"I'm trying to hold on," her voice was weak, thready. "But Christ, the damn drugs…"

"I'm going to kill her for what she's doing to you," Clayton vowed fiercely, and he meant it. _I will see her __**dead**__ for hurting you._ As Olivia had screamed on the table, the hot anger he'd felt had given way to a cold, deadly fury, and he would have killed her at that moment and felt no regret whatsoever.

"I'm not going to argue with you on that," Olivia sighed. There was a creak of leather straps, as if she'd tried to find a slightly more comfortable position, then she cried out. "Ah…"

"What's wrong?" Clayton asked, alarmed.

"…_oh God, these things in me_…" she whimpered in anguish.

"You're bleeding…" Clayton said gently.

"I know…I know, the probes tore me when she put them in…oh God, it hurts…" She was holding her breath, trying to fight the pain, and he shook his head even though he knew she couldn't see him in the darkness.

"Liv, I know it's hard, but try to focus. Take deep even breaths. Increase your oxygen intake." She started gasping, raggedly; then her breathing deepened, then evened. After a moment, sounding slightly more in control, she said, "Thank you. I'm trying to remember what you told me but it's so damned hard…"

"I know. It's hard for everyone when they first start the course. The instructors know that, that's why… that's why they put us through some of the actual situations so we can learn to apply pain-control techniques even while under stress."

"It sounds…unpleasant." Well, at least she wasn't focused on her pain anymore. That was good.

"It was. But the techniques we learn are definitely worth it, especially in battle situations when medical help can't get to you quickly and you just have to grin and bear it."

"I know what you mean. Been there a couple of times." Silence for a moment.

"Liv…can I ask you a question?" He started, more to get her to concentrate on something other than her pain.

"Go ahead."

"I don't know how much awareness you retained of what you said while under the drugs…"

"Oh God, I didn't say anything embarrassing, did I?" She chuckled weakly.

Humor was good. Humor was excellent. "No, not really, but…well, there were a couple of names that came up. Who's Calvin?"

"Oh…" Sadness. "His Mom was a victim whose case I investigated. She left him at the station after the case was over with a letter giving me power of attorney over him. Foster system was full so I took him home with me for about a month while we tried to find either of his parents. We finally found his Dad, then his Mom came back and took him away to go live with his grandparents."

There was so much more to that story than Olivia was letting on. "Must have been hard working and having a kid to take care of at the same time."

"It wasn't that hard. And I liked it. I'd always wanted to have kids—even tried to apply to be a foster mom…but the system rejected me. I work long hours, have no close family to help raise the child, and I'm single."

"You'd be a great Mom. They must have been crazy."

Another ghost of a chuckle. "That's what Elliot said. But I never found the right man, and I think now it's too late for me."

His heart ached. "Couldn't you and Alex adopt together? Both of you would make great Moms."

"Alex? Are you kidding? She's never wanted kids."

"But did you ever tell her you wanted kids?"

Olivia sounded amused. "Clayton, Alex and I are not going to form a permanent couple. I know it sounds cliché, but we really are just close friends with benefits. She's perfectly free to date whomever she wants, and so am I. If she found someone she's happy with I'd be fine with it, and vice versa."

"Ettienne seems to be making some progress."

"I'm glad. I only got to talk to him briefly in the car, but I think he's the kind of guy she'd like."

Clayton chuckled. "Did I tell you I had a talk with Ettienne? I found out what Elliot's code name was in the Marines."

"Oh really. I'm all ears."

"Shaft."

He could almost hear Olivia frown. "Why would he not want me to know that?"

"Um. According to Ettienne, it's not the name he minds, it's how he got it. Apparently there was a girl he was dating for a while, and he went out with her one night. Got back to base a little late, had to press the intercom to get let back in, but he forgot to turn the comm off. Apparently everyone on base heard her…very enthusiastic…goodbye. The next day everyone was walking around calling him Shaft because they heard the comment she made about a certain part of his anatomy."

Olivia broke into outright laughter, muted a moment later by a pained grunt. "Ow, don't make me laugh…these things in me hurt…" she drew deep breaths, controlling her breathing and her pain. "Okay. Oh, I'll have to remember that. Shaft. I wonder if Kathy knows?"

"Kathy?'

"Elliot's wife. I'll have to make sure I tell her if she doesn't already know." Silence. Then, "Anything I should know?"

"I'm Hawk because if there's something going on at my base I'll find out about it. No matter how my people try to keep stuff from me. I will find it out. So. Hawk." He smiled. "And you're Fearless."

"Yeah. I'm Fearless. Alex always told me that no matter what happened, I always faced it fearlessly and never flinched. It's one of the things she says she likes about me." Then, softer, "She didn't see me with Harris."

"Who is he? What did he do to you? You kept screaming for him to leave you alone while Sandra was—"

"Clayton, I don't think I want to discuss this with you." A clear dismissal. And Clayton grew concerned.

"Liv…I don't know what he did to you, but the memory wouldn't hurt as bad as this if you'd already worked through it."

"I went to therapy. I'm fine."

"Proof positive that you're not."

"Clayton, please. I just don't want to talk about it."

"Jesus, Liv…what happened?"  
>"Nothing. Leave it alone, Clayton."<p>

He gritted his teeth. "Liv, I'm not going to fight with you about it now, but whatever happened is one of those secrets that will hurt you if you keep it. You're going to have to talk to someone eventually, okay? I don't know you that well, so maybe it'll be easier to talk to me when this is over, because I'm guessing you couldn't tell Elliot or whatever happened wouldn't still hurt this bad."

Silence for a long moment. Then, "It was an undercover operation that went wrong. In a women's prison. I had PTSD for a while afterwards; Don told me to go to therapy. All right? We can talk later. Just…not now. Please."

"All right." He conceded the point. "Get some sleep now, okay Liv? God knows when she's going to come back, and you need to rest."


	18. Chapter 60:Preparation

**Chapter 60: Preparation**

"Are you done yet?"

"I want to try that again." Alex shook her head, studying her opponent across the mat as she flexed sore arms. Snake Eyes studied her for a moment, then nodded to Scarlett.

Scarlett blew out her breath in annoyance, but said, "All right. Come at me again."

They'd all agreed that she needed to learn some self-defense skills, so Snake Eyes had offered to teach her—as their expert in hand-to-hand combat, he trained everyone on base. Alex was now facing him on the mat, dressed in her yoga pants and a sweaty t-shirt, sparring with him; Scarlett stood off to one side, monitoring the bout and translating Snake Eyes' hand signals.

He deflected her attack easily, grabbed an arm, twisted it, sending her to her knees. "And that's how you're going to put someone coming at you from the front on the ground," Scarlett explained for him. He hadn't twisted her arm hard enough to hurt, just enough so that she could feel the pressure, and he'd been careful not to do this to the arm that had been dislocated. Not that a real enemy coming at her would have been so nice, but he knew she was still fragile and healing and if the need hadn't been so dire he would have refused to do this altogether. "Now you try and do that to Snake Eyes." He waited until she climbed to her feet and got her balance, then came at her.

She'd learned the lesson, Scarlett decided as Snake Eyes found himself studying the mat a few seconds later. Good. "Good. _Now_ are you done for the day?"

Snake Eyes locked gazes with Scarlett, blinked slightly; he could see the warning signs of Alex pushing herself beyond the limits of her still-fragile, healing body and it would be up to Scarlett to continue or end the bout. Alex was sweating freely, gasping for breath, and he knew she had to be tired, but she shook her head. "No. Again."

"Absolutely not," Scarlett took Snake Eyes' hint and strode across the mat, arms folded, eyes snapping green sparks. "You're done for the day."

Alex shook her head. "I need to—"

"You need to listen to me, Private," Scarlett emphasized Alex's rank. "You're not going to do Clayton or Olivia any good by running yourself into the ground, possibly injuring yourself, and going out there less than a hundred percent. So get off the mat, go shower and clean up, rest. Tomorrow we'll see if your muscles remembered today's lesson, though I'll bet real money that you won't even be able to get out of bed in the morning." When Alex opened her mouth to protest again, Scarlett shook her head. "There will be no further discussion, Private. Get off the mat. That's an order." Alex sighed and stepped off the mat.

Ettienne stepped forward, handed her a towel. "Did good there, Alex," he said approvingly as he followed her out of the gym into the hallway. And then caught her as her legs buckled, dumping her against the wall. "Think you overdid it a little?"

"I'm sorry," Alex leaned against him for a minute, willing her legs to stop shaking. "I just…I keep seeing Olivia strapped to that chair screaming, and I just…I want to get out there before they really hurt her, like they hurt me. I want to see Velez dead almost as much as I want to see Liv again. So yeah, I guess I am pushing it a little." She tried to take a step, and her legs almost buckled again.

"Maybe more than a little," Ettienne said, and swept her up in his arms. Alex thought about protesting, then decided against it. One, she really was tired—exhausted—and she didn't think she was going to be able to walk. And two, she liked the feel of his sold bulk supporting her, his arms wrapped around her and carrying her as effortlessly as if she were a child's doll. Although the old Alex would have hated 'being babied' like this, the Alex she was gradually discovering on the other side of the whole affair had learned the value of being able to depend on someone other than herself, had learned that sometimes stubbornness didn't pay.

And this Alex discovered she liked being pampered and spoiled. Just a little.

Ettienne made a right turn through a door, and her eyes flew open as she realized where they were. "'Tienne! This is the girls' showers!"

He didn't answer; just carried her to one of the stalls, stepped inside with her, and turned on the water. "My clothes—" she started to complain, but he solved that problem by stripping off her shirt, then dropping to one knee and taking off her pants and panties. The hot spray felt good on her sweaty skin, and she forgot to complain with the sheer sensual pleasure of the shower. "Oh God…that feels good." She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again Ettienne was nude. Smiling at him, she relaxed into his embrace, tilting her head to the side as he soaped a soft washcloth and started to caress her body with it, cleaning sweat from her skin When he was done washing her thoroughly, neck to ankles, he started to massage her muscles under the hot spray, making her feel weak-kneed again as his hands worked their way down her body. By the time he was on his knees in front of her with his hands working the taut muscles of her buttocks, she was feeling relaxed and energized, and a sudden impulse made her draw him up to stand in front of her as she leaned in and whispered a few words in his ear. "Alex," he started to say, but she crushed her lips on his, effectively muting his protest, and she lathered her own hands with the soap, then reached lower. By the time her arms came up to wrap around his neck, he wasn't even making any coherent sounds.

And when she wrapped her legs around his waist and slid him deeply into her, the pleasure was so overwhelming she couldn't think anymore either.

"I can't believe you're up."

Alex smiled serenely at Scarlett, standing on the mat alone, having just vanquished another poor recruit.

"Seriously. You should be flat on your back with sore muscles after the workout you had yesterday afternoon." Scarlett eyed Alex disbelievingly. Then the gym door opened behind Alex, and Ettienne came in. Scarlett's eyes narrowed speculatively. Alex could almost hear the click as the redhead figured it out.

"An after workout massage can get stiffness out of overused muscles."

"Yes," Ettienne said cheerfully. Alex felt her cheeks flush pink.

"And so can a rub in the morning."

"Right again." Ettienne grinned. Alex couldn't help smiling as her face flushed even more.

"So I guess that means you two are up to some close-quarter combat."

Ettienne's smile disappeared. "Huh?' Alex asked, confused.

"Ettienne's the perfect candidate for me to show you how to incapacitate a male who's somewhere in your personal space where you don't want him to be." Now it was Scarlett's turn to smile with sweet maliciousness. "Come on. Private workout room."

In addition to the larger gym with regular equipment, there were several smaller rooms to one side. The one Scarlett led Alex and Ettienne to now was the one she and Snake Eyes used for their private sparring matches, outfitted to be a perfectly-equipped dojo with the walls decorated with weapons of all sorts; sais, nunchuks, katanas and other blades of differing lengths, bo and other staffs. Scarlet pushed a large barrel containing a handful of wooden practice swords out of the way, then stood with her feet shoulder width apart in a 'ready' stance. "Come at me, Ettienne."

Ettienne groaned.

"Ettienne, listen." Scarlett walked over to where Alex and Etienne stood side by side at the edge of the mat. "Alex is going to go back out there and face that madman, try to buy Olivia and Clayton's lives with her own. Having arranged her torture in the African jungle, you know exactly what he's capable of doing when he actually has her; what Zimurinda did to her is going to be small potatoes compared to what Velez will do to her. The sick bastard's probably already got plans." _And may be trying them on Olivia,_ but she didn't say it aloud. "We have at most a few days to try and cram self-defense tactics into Alex's head before we leave. And whatever we teach her has to not only be within her physical limitations but also has to be effective. If Velez gets her in his hands alone she'll need to know how to keep him at a distance long enough for help to reach her."

Scarlett turned to Alex, and Alex saw anguish in those blue eyes. "I saw you come in. I saw what you looked like. God forbid I ever see that again. Once in a lifetime is enough, not only for me but also for you. I don't think you'll survive it a second time. So if that bastard comes close enough to you, I want you to know exactly how to hurt him so he cannot continue whatever he had planned, and best case scenario, you'll be able to kill him. Yes, we'll bruise Ettienne up some in the process, but it will be because we want to protect you. All right?" At Alex's nod, she stepped back. "Ettienne. Come at me."

Over the next few hours Alex learned so much more about self-defense than she'd ever learned from courses available to the general public. Scarlett was an expert at hand-to-hand combat, second only to Snake Eyes on base, and that just barely—and she also knew a handful of 'dirty' tricks that would never be taught anywhere else. Scarlett ran through a series of moves with Ettienne as she was standing with her arms free; these were effective at stopping Ettienne and she had Alex practice several. Then she brought out some soft cotton rope and had Ettienne tie her wrists behind her, to simulate a situation in which Alex might be bound but still have the freedom of her legs. "Kicks to an attacker's ankles, knees and hips will be most effective; try to aim for the side of that joint or at an angle at which the joint doesn't normally bend. Alternatively, if the attacker is standing behind you, if you can reach back with a foot and hook the back of the knee, jerk straight forward, your attacker's knee should fold forward." She demonstrated, and Ettienne folded forward nicely.

"Never underestimate surprise. If an attacker is holding you and you can't get a good angle, pretend to faint. The sudden lack of resistance can take an attacker by surprise, allowing you to 'fall' to the ground, then roll out of the way." Scarlett demonstrated, leaving Ettienne standing there empty-handed. "Forget everything you've learned about fighting fair. They don't apply here. You do whatever you have to do in order to get away, Pull hair, gouge eyes, bend fingers backwards, whatever you have to do. In fact—Ettienne, untie my hands-" and as soon as he did she went to the wall, taking down a thin-bladed stiletto in a sheath, "I wanted to make sure you have this on you when you go out there."

"A knife?" Alex examined it.

"It's sized specifically to fit in the small of your back. Wear it strapped around your waist under your clothes with the knife in back." She demonstrated, settling a cotton web belt around Alex's waist with the knife behind her.

"Kind of like having your gun shoved in the back waistband of your shorts," came Lady Jaye's voice, and she strolled across the floor with Recoil and Flint following along.

"Exactly." Scarlett nodded to Lady Jaye. "Now here's why. Hold your hands behind you, as if they were tied—no, I'm not going to tie you—and Ettienne, you stand behind her there. Now Ettienne, put your hand on her hips here, like you're trying to take her pants off." Her voice softened as she saw the expression on Alex's face. "Yes, I know. That's why I had Ettienne do this instead of someone else. If he wasn't willing to help me train you I'd be demonstrating only, not getting you to do this as well." Her voice went back to being briskly professional. "Now. If there's a guy behind you trying to get your pants off and your hands are tied, do you see how easy it is to reach that knife?"

"Yes," Alex said, eyes wide. "So this is for me to use if there's someone behind me?"

"You got it. Yank that knife out. Aim for the femoral artery in the inner thigh, if you can't find that don't hesitate to do a Lorena Bobbitt on him, the knife is extremely sharp just for that reason. Then while he's screaming and bleeding you can finish him off using that femoral artery." She ignored the pained grimaces on the faces of the men standing around; ignored Ettienne's sudden nervous shifting of weight as he took two respectful steps back from Alex. "Alex, it's you or the guy and he's not going to be so considerate of you. The whole point to this is to do whatever it takes to a) either incapacitate or kill your attacker, and b) escape. You do whatever you have to do to accomplish either one of those goals. Don't worry about blood and guts and gore and whatever else you might have heard about rules of engagement and playing fair. I know there are all sorts of rules about warrior's honor, not hitting someone when he's down and not stabbing them in the back. Forget all of that. None of that will matter on this mission we're going on and honor does not apply to this son of a bitch Cesar Velez. If you see an opportunity to kill him or hurt him, do it. No regrets, no remorse."

Alex nodded. "I understand, Master Sergeant."

"If you're finished with the lecture, Scarlett, I'd like to take Alex to the range and see what her shooting skills look like. We're looking at arming her with as much firepower she can safely handle so that hopefully the skills you just showed her will be moot because no one will come that close to her."

"Go ahead, Lady Jaye. Alex. Remember what I showed you, and if you can talk Ettienne into letting you practice on him later, do it. Ettienne," and the Cajun looked at Scarlett at the warning note in her voice, "Don't turn the fight into foreplay. You know all these moves; you've seen me drill them into Courtney and the new recruits. Keep in mind that this could potentially mean life and death for Alex later; if you don't want to see her dead you'd both better take this seriously."

"Aye-aye, Master Sergeant Ma'am!" Ettienne was entirely serious as he snapped to attention and saluted.

"Good. Now get out of here. Go learn to use the big guns. If you never have to actually use anything I just showed you I'll be ecstatic."


	19. Chapter 61: Range

**Chapter 61: Range**

Alex let out the breath she'd been unconsciously holding as they left the dojo. "She's very intense."

Lady Jaye nodded. "She has to be. Alex, while most military training concentrates on the use of weapons and armor, if someone's shooting at you with bullets you're either going to get hit, resulting in injury, or death if you take it in the head. Or you'll avoid it, either by taking it on your body armor or by ducking. Scarlett and Snake Eyes train our soldiers in hand-to-hand for situations when you're out of ammo or guns are useless, which requires much more skill and will have an immediate, direct effect on whether our soldiers, our recruits, live or die. While we don't have bonds as close to our recruits as we do with fellow officers, no life is expendable and every death affects all of us.

"The death of any soldier that goes down in a hand-to-hand combat situation is directly attributable to Scarlett and Snake Eyes' instruction. Snake Eyes handles the majority of training for the guys and Scarlett handles the majority of the training for us girls, but they will trade off so that the male recruits get a chance to learn to fight against a female opponent and female recruits get a chance to learn to fight against a male opponent. This makes them both equally responsible for every recruit's training. So if Scarlett has to make you uncomfortable in order to prove her point, if she has to hurt you to make you pay attention to what she's trying to teach you, that's what she's going to do. She knows where each recruit's limits are, and she will let you push yourself if you want to, and on occasion she will push you if she deems it necessary, but she knows where your hard limits are and she won't cross them. Nobody's ever been fatally or seriously wounded during training here.

"She's come in for more than her fair share of grief over the years from boneheaded recruits who don't see how she cries whenever someone doesn't come back, who can't see she's harsh because she has to be. You won't see her mingling with the recruits much except during instruction and training, and you'll hear a lot of the recruits call her Fire Bitch, because of her red hair and her temper and what they see as her callousness, her inability to sympathize with you when you're hurting from training the day before. But she's like that because an enemy isn't going to pull their punches, isn't going to take it easy on you if you're injured, so neither is she. And to be honest, I've always thought that if she were a little less emotionally controlled around the recruits they wouldn't be as hard on her, but Scarlett is who she is, and I think the only person she ever lets her guard down with entirely is Snake Eyes. And he's just like her, maybe even more so. So you'll rarely ever see them without each other, and the only time you'll ever see them completely relaxed is with each other. She's essentially a pretty cheerful person but you'll never know that if the only time you see her is during training."

"That's a lot of responsibility." Alex was sober.

"Yes. It is. That whole training session she just finished with you was the kindest I've ever seen her be. I think that's because you're not really military, for one, and for another, seeing you come in looking like you did really made an impression on her. She's treading a very fine line between wanting to take it easy on you because she knows what you've been through and at the same time giving you the training you're going to need in order to survive whatever else may happen. And if she wasn't already part of the escort team going to Colombia she'd probably be talking Flint into letting her go. She's going to drill you all the way there, every chance she gets; stay on your guard because she's going to appear out of nowhere and throw a punch just to see if you're paying attention to your surroundings. Please try not to hate her when she starts doing it."

"I won't," Alex said. "Where are we going now?"

"Indoor firing range," Allie grinned. "I'm going to teach you how to shoot."

"Can we stop at my room—my quarters—first?"

"Sure. Why?"

Alex didn't answer that until she, Allie, and Ettienne were at her room door. She headed unerringly for her closet, pulled out the cardboard box that had her gun, still wrapped in the bright yellow scarf Ettienne had grabbed for it. Ettienne started to say something, but Allie touched his arm. They both watched silently as Alex took it out and checked it. She bit her lip, but her hands were steady as she pulled the slide back, checked it to make sure it was clean and in firing condition, then looked up at Allie. "I assume you guys do have bullets for this?"

"Alex, we have guns. You don't have to touch that one again if you don't want to."

"It's mine. It was the only thing of my life that I could take with me into WitSec besides the dolphin, and then, later, when all the attempts on my life started—I've carried it with me for so long that I don't feel right without it. Even though I know it was used to kill Kris—and it was used to…rape…me, it's still mine, it's been mine so long that it feels like a part of me and I'd be an idiot if I didn't use every weapon I have available to me." And, so softly, "If I have a chance to kill Velez with it, that would be fitting, right?"

"All right. Come on. I'm positive we have bullets for it. Let's go."

Allie started Alex off easy, letting her use her own gun on a target at fifty yards. Even with losing movement in the two fingers of her right hand, she was still accurate. Bull's eye. Same result at a hundred yards, then at a hundred and fifty.

Then she switched Alex to a Glock nine mil. "This is pretty close to a police-issue piece, so if Olivia ever took you to the range with her, it'll feel the same." Alex was accurate at fifty, one hundred, and one hundred fifty yards.

They progressed upwards; Alex was accurate with everything until they got to the heavy 40 caliber at one hundred fifty yards. With a 45 caliber Desert Eagle her accuracy stopped at one hundred, and she shook her head when offered the 50 caliber. "I'm not even going to try that one," she sighed, flexing her wrists. "The recoil on the 45 is killing me."

"Okay. Well, that's where we're going to start."

Recoil was their expert at small arms, and Ettienne was a Gunnery Sergeant, so between the two of them they gave Alex a crash course in modern weaponry. "We're not going to get really in-depth with this, because you're going to have five of us around you with much heavier firepower. I'm satisfied that you're going to be good on your own with short-range weapons," Recoil said as Alex finally took off the noise-canceling headphones and rubbed the heels of her hands, where Ettienne knew the muscles were aching from the unaccustomed recoil of the heavy caliber guns. "You won't need to pick up one of our heavy automatic machine guns and fire it, so there's no point in trying even if we had time to train you and build your upper body strength to work up to it." He checked something off a pad. "All right. Next stop, armory. You can keep your gun, but I'm going to get you a proper holster for it, then give you a 9 mil and a 40 caliber. I know you're not that accurate with it after a hundred yards, but one hundred yards is a football field and at no time are you going to be in a position where one of us is not going to be within one football field of you. Got me?" She nodded.

She giggled a little as she walked back to her quarters with Ettienne later. "What?" he asked her.

"I feel like a soldier now. Got a gun strapped to my thigh, a knife at my back, two on either side."

"Do you feel like you're ready for this?" He studied her.

She considered for a moment. "Weapon-wise , no," she admitted. "I look at all of you and I realize I haven't even scratched the surface. But am I ready for Velez? Hell yeah. I want to go back to being Alex Cabot the ADA, instead of Velez's prey. I want to be able to go eat out, want to be able to go for a drive without worrying that my car will blow up under me. I want to walk down a street without worrying if there's a sniper taking aim at my head. I want Olivia back. I want everything to be normal again. These last few years…ever since the Feds came to me with a recorded conversation Velez had in prison that out a hit out on me…these last five years have been like some sort of bizarre nightmare that I kept wishing I could wake up from and yet I knew it wasn't. Ettienne, I'm just so tired. I just…want my life back."

She leaned against him, and tears filled her blue eyes. "I just wish I could have one last really greasy, disgusting, really-bad-for-you burger before I go to Columbia, and I wish I could see the stars again. I know we're in New York; you wouldn't have been able to bring Olivia's suitcase with the clothes in it if we weren't close. I just…if this is the last time I'm in the US again, if I die in Columbia, at least I'd have that one last sight of the stars and the New York skyline I call home to hold onto." She scrubbed at the tears in her eyes, but they kept coming. "I'm sorry." She retreated into her room, closed the door. A moment later, the lock clicked, a sign that she just wanted to be left alone.

"Jesus friggin' Christ." Ettienne turned, to see Courtney and Beach Head standing in front of Courtney's room door just down the hall, and neither one of them was particularly dry-eyed, and Courtney was the one who'd sworn. "Ettienne, just go get her the damn burger!"

"General Hawk said we're not to give her any clues to where this base is, she's not supposed to know where we are."

"News flash," Courtney sounded pissed as she stalked toward him-and she was actually rather intimidating when she was pissed. "She _already_ knows where we are. She's _known _since Hawk brought Olivia here, and if she had _any_ doubts left she _damn _well would have figured it out when Clayton was kidnapped while on a date with her girlfriend! Hell, I'm willing to bet she knows exactly how to get out of here if she really wanted to, and never mind all the stupid idiotic passcodes and security systems." She stopped in front of him, her voice low but her eyes narrowed in anger. "If you don't go and get her that damn burger I sure as hell will."

Ettienne grinned suddenly, surprising Courtney. "While I'm off getting that burger, maybe you could set up a picnic?"

"Where?" Trust Courtney to be the one eager to break the rules!

He didn't even have to think about it, and his heart ached even as he spoke. "If this is going to be her last sight of home, I think the old lighthouse would be appropriate."

Courtney was thinking the same thing. "Let her know that the light is still on at home, waiting for her. And the Narrows Bridge is beautiful lit up at night." She nodded. "Consider it done. The picnic will be waiting when you get back."

"Alex?"

Alex roused from a light doze at the tap and the sound of Ettienne's voice at the door. _I guess I was more tired than I realized after this morning,_ and she reached over, closed the manual that Allie had given her, and shoved it under her pillow. Smoothing down her hair—jeez, Alex, he's seen you at your worst. What's a little messy hair?—and opened her room door. "Hey."

"Are you okay?"

She flushed. "Yes, 'Tienne, I'm sorry. I just…I wanted to be alone for a little while. I'm homesick and I know there's a possibility I'll never see home again, and it just all caught up with me all at once."

"Feel up to a walk?"

She looked down at her yoga pants and t shirt. "As long as you don't mind if I look like a bum."

"You? Never. The pants are fine, but can you put on that plain gray t-shirt you wore the other day?"

Wondering more and more, she changed her shirt, then looked at him inquiringly. "Is this good?"

"Wonderful." He leaned over and kissed her temple, a gesture that Alex had come to enjoy over the last few weeks. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

She followed him curiously to the administrative level. She was just curious until she saw Beach Head in the hall in front of them, leaning against the wall trying to look inconspicuous.

There was no way Beach Head could ever be 'inconspicuous'.

"Clear?" Ettienne asked Beach Head, who simply nodded, then strode off down the hall. Moments later they rounded the corner and met Courtney. Who, oddly enough, was dressed in yoga pants and an identical t-shirt to Alex's. She nodded to Alex, winked at Ettienne, and stood in front of the elevator. Moments later, the door opened. Ettienne guided her on, said, "Push the button between A and SB level. It'll stop the elevator. Count exactly ten seconds, and push the button again. It will let you off at SB and I want you to wait right there."

''Tienne…" but he was gone. Alex, curious now, followed his instructions, counted the prescribed number of seconds, then got off on the indicated level. As she waited, she looked around. It appeared to be a ruined subbasement, with irregular flagstones mortared between crumbling cement. It looked dark, abandoned. Deserted. Maybe lightly maintained, given the fact that there was no graffiti on the visible portion of wall behind her by the elevator (which, from this side, looked rust-pitted and disused) but deserted.

She was just starting to wonder if Ettienne was setting her up when he came running up to her. "Took me a little longer to get out. Flint stopped to talk to me about something. You okay?"

"Curious as hell, but yeah, I'm okay," she admitted. "'Tienne, what is this about? I'm pretty sure what we're doing right now is against some rule somewhere, or Courtney and Beach Head wouldn't have been helping you break it."

Ettienne stopped walking, leaned against the wall, and started laughing. She regarded him first with curiosity, then with annoyance. When her foot started tapping in frustration, he laughed even more. "It's okay," he told her, still chuckling as he pushed away from the wall and took her arm, guiding her to a set of stone steps to the far right. "I'm just surprised you figured it all out by now."

"If this is against the rules shouldn't you be taking me…back…" She stopped speaking as she got to the top step. "Oh. Ettienne."

She'd known it was evening; but she hadn't taken a look at her clock to verify exactly what time it was before she left her room. Now as she came to the top step, she saw before her the panoramic expanse of the Verrazano Narrows, complete with the bridge to her extreme right and the brilliant glow of the Manhattan skyline to her far left. And in front of her, one of the most picturesque lighthouses she'd ever seen, its whitewashed silhouette and bright light flashing out across the dark water and star strewn sky. "'Tienne…"

"You said you wanted to see home. Here you go. And on my honor as a Joe, Alexandra Cabot, when this is over we'll come back here and have a laugh at how you thought this would be your last glimpse. Because you _are_ coming back from this, safe. I swear it."

His words were lost on her as she took a few halting steps forward, still taking in the beauty of the view. "Tienne…I see that's New York over there, with the Twin Towers light show, but…I've never been here before. Where exactly are we?"

"Fort Wadsworth, Battery Weed, Staten Island," he told her. "It's an old military fort supposedly abandoned by the Navy and now maintained by the Parks service. At one time this was the defense fort for the entire upper bay and Manhattan area. That's the Verrazano Narrows there, and the Narrows Bridge."

"I never noticed just how beautiful it is," Alex whispered, feeling a lump rise in her throat. "Thank you, Ettienne."

"Oh, the surprise isn't over yet. Come on."

He'd left it up to Courtney to arrange a picnic; he'd been expecting a blanket and maybe a lantern. What he found instead was an air mattress inflated on the ground with a couple of small camp pillows and a thin blanket on it, a radio sitting on a large rock nearby playing some soft instrumental music, and a small folding camp table complete with a couple of flickering taper candles. He was gratified to hear her soft, "Oh, 'Tienne…"

"Eat first," he said, and as she seated herself he brought out the huge bag from Paul's Place. "Shana said it was your favorite. I hope I got what you wanted on yours."

"How romantic. Cheeseburgers by moonlight," she giggled through the tears on her cheeks. "Oh 'Tienne. Thank you." Then, "We aren't going to get in trouble for this, are we?"

"It's our last night here before going to Colombia tomorrow. I wanted to make sure you enjoyed it. I don't care if I get in trouble."

"I'm not supposed to know where we are."

He gave her a sly sidelong look. "You knew perfectly well we were in the New York area. Olivia first, then the clothes, and then Clayton getting kidnapped with Olivia—you knew."

"Yes I did."

They finished their dinner and Alex eyed the air mattress. "Ettienne…"

"Don't look at me. I'm not the one who set this up. When I went to get the burgers I asked Courtney to get a picnic set up."

"Since when does a picnic include an air mattress? And pillows? And a blanket?" She grinned at him. "Think she's trying to tell us something?"

"Knowing Courtney, yeah, she probably is. But I have to admit, it would be nice to lie on something comfortable while we watch the stars come out." He lay down on the mattress, stretching himself out. "She was dressed like you to provide a decoy so no one knows you're out here with me. That's why I asked you to put that t-shirt on."

"Thank you," And that air mattress did look inviting. She stretched herself on her side beside him, resting her head partly on the air pillow and partly on his arm. The exercise of the day, the full meal, all caught up with her. _I can close my eyes. Just for a few minutes. Then we'll get up and go in and we'll get ready to go. Hang on, Liv. One more night. We'll be in Colombia tomorrow afternoon. Just hang on…_


	20. Chapter 62: Escape

**Chapter 62: Escape**

When they came back it wasn't for Olivia, it was for Clayton.

They were both asleep when the light came on, and Clayton blinked groggily, dread rising in him as he saw Sandra and Velez. "Not Olivia again, for God's sake, she's had enough!" he cried in anguish.

They had arrived in Colombia at what Clayton roughly estimated as two days before. They hadn't even bothered with hoods and walking Clayton and Olivia outside. He'd felt a needle prick his arm, then nothing until he woke up strapped to an almost identical dental chair. His only clue that they were at their destination was the fact that since the floor was no longer moving, they must no longer be on Velez's boat. Sandra had tortured Olivia with drugs and electricity for two days straight, and each time the bitch left Olivia had gotten less and less responsive to his tentative questions afterward. He was worried what the drugs and hallucinations combined were doing to her mental state, and he'd noticed her breathing becoming harsher, more pained, about an hour after Sandra left. _Withdrawal,_ he identified to himself. That too had gotten progressively worse as the amount and apparently the types of drugs Sandra was using changed; the last time Sandra had gotten done with Olivia there had been no answers to his questions, to his repeated calling of her name afterward. She'd lain on the table just gasping with sobs for a short time, then drifted into a drugged sleep. He was gradually coming to the realization that they were going to have to make an all-or-nothing attempt to escape soon, because if he waited much longer Olivia wouldn't be in any condition to run with him, and he was absolutely not leaving her here.

"Oh, no, General. This time it's you. I want to see if we can break your military conditioning. You've been giving Miss Benson advice as Sandra has been playing with her, and she proved to be unusually resistant to our manipulations thus far, though we do think that she's starting to crack." He wandered over to Olivia, raising an eyebrow when he found she hadn't recovered consciousness as the light went on. "When she wakes up we'll try something different. For now, though…let's work on you."

This time it wasn't Olivia whose screams rang off the walls from the application of electric. _Electrical impulses can be used as the quickest way to bring massive amounts of pain to a human body without causing permanent damage_. The words from his course manual had been just that; words…until now.

And then, just as Sandra had done to Olivia, she now did to Clayton. Clayton screamed in agony as she sent electrical pulses through the probes into his body. His screams finally woke Liv, who cried out his name in anguish at the sight of him writhing in torment.

"Ah, Miss Benson. You're awake. Let's try something different, shall we?"

Velez had Sandra increase the current until Clayton's entire body felt like the electric was tearing him apart. The agony was terrific, made worse by the fact that he couldn't even scream; the electricity paralyzed his diaphragm and he couldn't even draw breath. When they—finally!—turned the current off he was a quivering mess.

"Now. I'm sure you realize by now that I know every detail of Miss Cabot's imprisonment with the African militia. I know what they did to her body, and I know what they forced your soldier to do to her. And," he smiled, "I'm a firm believer in the fact that no commander should ever have a soldier do something he wouldn't. And I know you and Miss Benson had a physical relationship beginning, so this should be…particularly unpleasant for you, being forced to rape her." He smiled and gestured to two muscled goons.

They unstrapped him from the dental chair and bodily hauled him on top of the medical table Liv lay on as Sandra gave Olivia another injection. "Just a little something to enhance her experience," and Sandra's smile promised nothing good. "The injection I gave you is our custom blend of scopolamine, methamphetamine, GHB, and cocaine. The cocaine is going to hyper-stimulate your nerves; the scopolamine and GHB are going to make you come and keep you coming. Your soldier boyfriend is going to feel exquisitely good inside you, and you'll climax so many times you'll tear your insides apart."

They forced Clayton's body into hers, and Olivia gasped and shuddered, her hips rising under Clayton's. He could feel her pulsing around him, and while ordinarily he would love to see her taking pleasure in a physical act with him, knowing it was drug-induced made it a complete turn-off. The electrified probes Sandra had forced into Olivia had overstretched and torn delicate tissue, and although his animal instinct howled in pleasure at the hot wetness pulsing around him, he knew it was her own blood and that made him sick.

But he learned the truth of what Doc had told him over the next few hours; his body's reactions were completely out of his control. They alternated between shocking her and shocking him; the movement of her tortured body twisting around him, her internal muscles pulsing around him, stimulated by the electrified probe still lodged in her bowels, made him come repeatedly until the act of coming was a torture all on its own. Olivia's cries started from drug-induced pleasure to sounds of agonized pain as the current and the involuntary, electrically-induced movement rubbed her raw inside; Clayton could feel hot stickiness on his groin, smell the thick copper scent of blood on his and Olivia's thighs, and wanted to cry in anguish at the bloody mess he envisioned there. The rest of her body was practically unscathed; there were some small red circles of burned skin where the electrode pads had been stuck to the sides of her neck, her temples, and her breasts, but that was all. All the damage had been done to the inside of her body.

What disgusted him the most and fed his icy fury was that he could see Sandra and Velez were getting aroused by the sight of Olivia and Clayton's torture. Velez's pants looked several sizes too tight for him and Clayton was utterly disgusted by the way Sandra was wantonly rubbing up against Velez's body as she watched Olivia scream in agonized ecstasy. They were a bare step away from ripping the clothes off each other's body and sating their desires in front of their captives.

"I'm going to set this on automatic and we can go find some privacy, hmm?" Sandra cooed at Velez, and the man kissed her deeply, passionately, before leaving the room. Sandra smiled at Clayton and fiddled with the electric control box. "So. A little randomly repeating current to keep you occupied while we're enjoying ourselves. Enjoy." She laughed as she left the room. Olivia was too far gone in the drug-induced torture to pay any attention to their absence. She was writhing frantically in her bonds, harsh, garbled sounds coming from her lips; there was no sense or reason or awareness in her eyes; Clayton wasn't sure if it was due to the drugs or if she'd simply dissociated, unable to handle what was being done to her.

Either way, they were going to have to do something. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. Not just for him, but for Olivia. Her increasing unresponsiveness was alarming him. Desperate to escape, Clayton yanked backward on his straps with every ounce of strength left in his body. And he was rewarded; he felt a slight give in one of the straps around his right wrist. Sandra had buckled the strap tightly around his wrist, then secured the other end of the strap to some point under the table.

Another yank. He grimaced as the leather dug into his wrist, but gritted his teeth and forced himself to yank again. And again. He had to get free before the damn electric switched from Olivia's body twisting under him to his; there was no way he could continue to work on his escape with the current, and God only knew when their sadistic captors would come back. He had to force himself to tune out the sound of Olivia crying out as she was forced to endure another climax, pushed into it helplessly by the electric current.

And then suddenly the strap gave, and he almost fell backward as one hand came free. He frantically brought his other hand over to release his other wrist, then grabbed handfuls of wires and ripped them from the contact pads. And just in time—as they hit the floor he heard the low whine that signaled the start of his part of the sick cycle, and he almost sobbed in relief as he bent to untie his shaking legs from the legs of the table.

He forced himself to lock his knees as he stepped forward to try and free Olivia. His first move was to get the second probe out of her; she cried out at its removal, then her eyes closed and she slumped back on the table in relief. Blood smeared the probe and her thighs, but it wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it was; most of the hot stickiness he'd felt seemed to be from their combined bodily fluids. He unbuckled the leather restraints around her wrists and ankles with shaking hands, then leaned over her. "Liv. Liv, come on, sweetheart, open your eyes." He pulled her upright and hugged her tightly. "Come on, Liv, we gotta go. Please…"

"Cl...Clayton?" it took two tries for her to get her voice working. Her eyes, when she tried to look at him, seemed to be having trouble focusing. "I'm…so tired…"

He sighed. "I am too, Liv. But we have to go. Any more of this and neither one of us is going to be in any condition to escape."

"Can't….go…without me…I'll…slow you down."

"No!" he shook her urgently, and her face looked startled as she tried to focus on him. "I'm not leaving you behind, Liv. We both go, or neither. Now come on, can you stand?"

"Try…" he helped her slide off the table, then left her leaning against it as he looked for something to cover her with. Her clothes had been dropped carelessly in a corner of the room; he approached them reluctantly, unwilling to touch them for the blood that Sandra had mopped up using them. But there wasn't anything else to be found even after a quick search of the cabinets and drawers.

Her panties were ruined, cut through; her shorts were still in wearable condition as he sorted through them. Her bra strap had been cut—not that she would have been able to put it on anyway, the straps would have chafed the raw burn spots on her skin. Her t-shirt was torn up the middle, but he guided her arms into the sleeves and tied a knot right over her midriff, and it seemed to work well enough.

His heavy military fatigues had apparently resisted attempts to cut them, so he drew them over his own limbs, noting as he did so that their shaking seemed to be getting better. Olivia too seemed to be getting better control over her arms and legs, but he knew she only had a short window before it got worse. Not from the electricity this time, but from withdrawal; If Sandra had been right about the combinations of drugs she'd used, Olivia was going to be in vicious pain from withdrawal symptoms fairly soon and he wanted to get her somewhere at least marginally better than here before those started.

The door wasn't even locked. Apparently Sandra and Velez had been in so much of a hurry and were so sure Clayton and Olivia were unable to escape that they hadn't even taken their usual precaution of locking the door, a fact that Clayton blessed as they stepped out onto the hall. There were no guards around, either; Clayton wondered about it but wasn't going to complain, not when it meant they were this much closer to freedom.

He'd figured out that they must be in a basement or some type of underground holding cell; this proved to be correct when the hall terminated in stairs leading upwards. He took them cautiously, a step at a time, silently, then took a deep breath just before he pushed the door open at the top of those stairs.

He'd braced himself for a fight, and so was taken aback when there proved to be nothing on the other side of the door but a fairly well-appointed living room. The place looked like it had just come out of the pages of an interior designer's catalogue; everything matched, everything was in exquisite taste and the latest style, and the door to the basement was hidden behind a set of large floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books. And the far side of the living room was dominated by heavy sliding glass doors that led out.

Out to a wide green lawn, and, at the far end of it, what looked like…jungle?

He stepped closer, trying to remain on the alert for any possible sound that could indicate possible pursuit, and peered outward. Yes. Jungle. There was a thick gray misty rain coming down outside, but through it he could see a heavy screen of tangled green foliage.

Freedom.

He turned to Liv, and froze. Sandra stood in the doorway, a look of absolute fury on her face and a gun pointed at him. Even as he saw her, she fired.

Agony erupted under his ribcage, a white-hot spear of pain through his right side. He gritted his teeth, pushing it aside for now; it wasn't immediately fatal, and right now he had to get himself and Olivia out of here. Olivia had rushed Sandra almost at the same instant the woman had fired, and though weak and uncoordinated from the drugs, she was maintaining a surprisingly firm grip on the gun Sandra held, keeping it pointed away from herself and Clayton.

Sandra cursed in Spanish and kicked Olivia hard between her legs. If Clayton hadn't been aware before of how much damage Olivia had taken there during their imprisonment, he knew now as Olivia crumpled to a fetal position on the floor, arms coming up to cradle the agony in her lower belly, sobbing with pain even as fresh seeping blood stained her torn pants. Sandra aimed the gun at Olivia. "Bitch." She hissed. "I don't care if Cesar wants you alive, you're dead now…"

And that was when Clayton tackled her.

The pain in his side was almost overwhelming, and he could feel his consciousness slipping away. He fought it, narrowing his focus from the entire room to just one person; he could feel blood spreading over his side from the wound, knew distantly that the bullet had probably nicked a vein, knew that if he passed out now they would probably find him and Liv, finish them both off. _Damn it, if I'm going to die, I'm taking this twisted, sadistic little bitch with me! _

His rush, completely unexpected, took her by surprise and the bullet meant to kill Olivia went wide, embedding itself somewhere in the crown moldings in the corner of the room close to the fireplace. Clayton ignored it, his training taking over in the form of instructions from not only his first drill instructor in the Army all those years ago, but also Scarlett and Snake Eyes as they drilled the new recruits in hand-to-hand. _Identify the hand holding the weapon. Keep it pointed away from you and any other possible targets in the vicinity. If possible, take it away from your target; they can't use it if you have it. If you are the only one with a weapon that will give you the upper hand._

Sandra had no upper body strength. It was ridiculously easy to yank the gun from her fingers even as his punch connected with her lower jaw, and there was a lot of force behind it. All of Clayton's rage and frustration and icy fury went into the punch that snapped her head backward on her neck and cracked her head against the floor.

She lay on the floor, crying dazedly as she felt her jaw, which had plainly been broken. Hawk felt a sense of vicious satisfaction, raised the gun, pointed it at her. She looked at him through eyes glazed with tears, and spat as best she could through her broken jaw, "You're American military. You can't kill an unarmed woman."

He hesitated. It went against everything he'd been taught. _Battle is not a place to exercise a personal vendetta. Never hit an enemy when they're down. Always give your opponent a chance to surrender where possible. _And, even more deeply ingrained, the injunction to never hit a woman.

And then Olivia gave a tiny groan, and his eyes flicked to the side, and a much deeper, more primal directive ran through his mind. _Protect those weaker than myself_. And, unbidden, his mind flashed back to their imprisonment. Olivia strapped to a chair, electrocuted. Olivia, lying on a table screaming as electrified probes entered and tortured the most sensitive parts of her body. Olivia, crying and begging as the hallucinogenic drugs tore her mind apart, exposed her worst nightmares and darkest private insecurities. Olivia, twisting and bleeding under him as they forced him into her. He didn't have time right now for this; he had to get Olivia out, now.

The bullet tore into Sandra's knee, perfectly placed for a crippling shot. From the surprise on her face as she screamed and then passed out, she apparently hadn't expected he would violate his military training and actually shoot her; but even deeper than the training was the need to protect someone weaker than himself, and right now that was Olivia…

He dropped to his knees beside her where she'd crumpled, noted with dismay not only the spreading blood staining the cloth between her legs and the pain she was experiencing in her lower belly but also now the way her hands were suddenly shaking. _Jesus fucking Christ. Withdrawal. She doesn't need this, damn it!_ He didn't allow his voice to display any of the anger he was feeling as he said, "Come on, Liv. We gotta go."

Her eyes seemed to have trouble focusing, and her hands and legs were shaking so much he practically had to carry her. _Shit._ This was going to make this whole thing harder; but they had to move, now, and fast, because God only knew when Velez and some of his muscle would show up, and he was starting to feel the effects of blood loss from the bullet wound in his side. He had to get them both out of here and somewhere safe, fast, before her withdrawal really hit.

It was a matter of moments to get the door open and Olivia outside. The rain seemed to revive her a little, and she turned her face upward, mouth open, trying to drink the rain. Thirst. Another sign of withdrawal. Not that he wasn't thirsty himself; during their imprisonment they'd been given only the minimum of food and water necessary to keep them alive, and he knew it was telling on his strength right now. He steeled himself, telling himself there would be time for that later, and checked their surroundings praying for a means of transportation.

And God was apparently listening to his prayers because there was a black jeep parked on a small paved area to one side of the palatial villa.

**Author's Note: And here ends the third part of 'Special Missions' The fourth part is titled Endgame, and the first two chapters will go up concurrently to this one, so look for it! And thanks for sticking with me for ride!**


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